


To The End

by Kitty_Drakeheart



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 110,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_Drakeheart/pseuds/Kitty_Drakeheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“...the hole in the sky is a terrifying site. The more scared people are the more people turn to faith and the more people turn to faith the more people will flocked to Andraste's chosen.”</em> </p><p>  <em>Sylvie knew Dorian was right, everyone was. It didn't stop the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, however. The feeling that she was using the fears and faiths of the people to manipulate them.</em> </p><p>She fell from the sky and was branded a mass murderer before being raised by the people as a saviour and Herald. Sylvie Trevelyan is now off to save the world. That's the plan, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You frown, you know?

The breeze was biting cold by Havens frozen lake, evening sun giving the landscape a dreamy orange hue. Just at the edges of it all the sickly green light of The Breach began to snake in. At this time in the day only the clouds and the snow covered peaks reflected the colours of the hole in the sky. In a couple of short hours, however, when it should be full dark, the whole landscape would be bathed in the reminder of what had occurred at the Conclave three short months previous.

Sylvie walked along the short pier, old wood groaning beneath her weight, and sat heavily down on the end. Her feet hung a few inches above the frozen surface as she swung them back and forth slowly. She had been coming to the same spot almost every night she was in Haven and even if her solitude was short lived it was at least something to cling to in the madness thrust upon her.

The first few weeks of the Inquisitions infancy had quickly become a routine of back-and-forth into the Hinterlands. The trips were (thankfully) eventually made quicker a few weeks ago when they finally procured horses from Master Dennett.

“The Inquisition needs support, this person is willing to listen.” Ambassador Montilyet would say at the war table. Then off Sylvie went, a Circle mage convincing scared refugees and sceptical Chantry clerics to listen and to join their cause.

“Our forces need horses, weapons and armour.” Their Commander- the Ex-Templar- would tell them. Sylvie could feel herself scowling just slightly. People didn't just stop being Templars as far as she was aware. Their prejudices were so engrained that they were as much a part of a Templar as her magic was a part of her. Everything about him reminded her of being back in the Circle, both before it fell and during. The way he held himself when at rest behind the war table, the way he moved and held his shield when he sparred with recruits- it all made it impossible for Sylvie to forget that _his_ people had killed, butchered, _raped_ her people simply because they had the perceived 'misfortune' of being born with the gift of magic.

“We have reports of more rifts opening...” Sylvie had already stopped listening to Leliana when a sentence started like that. She simply sighed quietly, took the offered map and went.

Two weeks ago the routine had changed. There was less and less time to waste- would it be the mages or the Templars who would assist in closing the Breach?

Maker only knew why they let her decide. She could see in their eyes that they had already guessed that she would want to go back to Redcliffe to the rebel mages. The Commander protested vehemently. Even Cassandra was dismayed and neither of them even stopped to ask why.

“You asked for a decision and here it is.” Sylvie had declared, cutting off the Commander. She had then promptly turned on her heel and stormed out of the War Room.

They didn't have the mark. None of them could know the feeling of having every fibre of your being hauled towards the Fade as a rift tried with all it's might to stay open. Every rift left her feeling empty, a dried husk of mana that could disappear with a light breeze. Each rift had gotten a little easier but when the choice had been between “Hopefully the Templars can dampen the Breach” and “Pour more magic into the mark” it didn't take Sylvie long to make a choice.

As much as Sylvie had tried to rationalise the decision from a tactical standpoint (Tevinter magister and all that) she knew her heart had made the choice as much as her brain. If things had been different she may have been one of those mages seeking safe harbour in Redcliffe, facing a future serving the Magisterium of Tevinter. She had seen the faces of the terrified apprentices, some so young they may have only been in their Circles a few months before everything went to shit, and she would not leave them to that fate. With everything that she had seen in that horrific future she felt even more vindicated in her choice. Sylvie scrunched her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, resolutely blocking out the memories of her time in that future. One day she would have to stop and process but not tonight. Or hopefully ever.

Footsteps crunching on the path towards the pier snapped Sylvie back into the moment. When the sound changed from cracking stone to creaking wood she knew her peace was over.

“By all means don't get up on my account.” A voice called as she began to swing her legs round onto the pier. Sylvie looked over her shoulder to see the Tevinter mage Dorian walking towards her. He stopped, taking a deep breath as he carefully lowered himself onto the pier beside her. “Bracing really, this fresh mountain air,” Dorian said amiably, “shame about the big hole in the sky.”

Sylvie allowed herself a small smile, “I always preferred sea air myself,” she replied, “reminds of home.” Sylvie frowned as she turned to look at Dorian. They had all returned to Haven five days ago after a quiet, tense ride back and Sylvie had had little time for conversation while helping prepare for the imminent arrival of their new mage allies.

“I apologise for not coming to tell you sooner but...” She paused, Dorian's face turning to meet her gaze, “I owe you a great deal of thanks for what you did in Redcliffe,” Sylvie swallowed heavily, “when we...”

“Went spinning through time into a demon filled, apocalyptic future?” He finished for her, one eyebrow raised.

Sylvie snorted, “Yes, I think that sums it up nicely. You essentially saved the world- at least as we know it.”

“Do spread that around,” Dorian replied, “the blacksmith actually spat at the sight of me the other day.”

“I will, the sooner people realise that we need all the help we can get the better for the Inquisition,” Sylvie smiled slyly at him, “even if that help comes in the form of a 'Vint.”

Dorian laughed, a single short 'hah' from the back of his throat while waving a dismissive hand.

“I think you will find I was joking, my dear. The Herald of Andraste has more pressing issues to attend to than one mans wounded pride.” Dorian said, his mouth smirking. “Like preparing her heretical movement for the arrival of potentially hundreds of apostates.”

Dorian's expression turned thoughtful as he regarded her with narrowed, grey eyes. “You frown, you know? The tiniest line right here,” he said as he pressed his finger tip between her eyes, “every time someone calls you Herald.” Sylvie turned away and looked down at her knees. “See!” Dorian exclaimed with satisfaction, “you did it again. Now, don't get me wrong it isn't obvious. However, being adept at reading people is almost a necessary survival skill in Tevinter.”

“It feels like a hugely distasteful joke,” Sylvie replied with a shake of her head, “a non-believer The Herald of Andraste.”

“Don't forget- a mage as well.” Dorian quipped back and Sylvie gave him a rueful half smile.

“So you see my point?” I fell from the sky and was branded a mass murderer. A few days later...” she drifted off but Dorian quickly picked up her line of thinking.

“You were raised by the people as a religious icon, their unwitting saviour. It's a delectable tale.” Dorian said with mocking whimsy before his expression became serious again. “They don't know then? That you don't believe a word of your own hype?”

Sylvie shook her head, “A few people do but not the masses. Cassandra asked out right, of course. She wasn't pleased. I only wish I had even a thimbles worth of her faith.” The cold breeze stirred Sylvie's hair and she tucked the fly away strands that had come loose from her bun behind her ears. “My advisors,” she continued with a roll of her eyes, “know as well but everyone agreed it best to continue letting the title of Herald spread.”

“Well I quite agree,” Dorian responded, “the hole in the sky is a terrifying site. The more scared people are the more people turn to faith and the more people turn to faith the more people will flocked to Andraste's chosen.”

Sylvie knew Dorian was right, every one was. It didn't stop the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, however. The feeling that she was using the fears and faiths of the people to manipulate them. Dorian stood up and smoothed down his robes, dusting off the wood chips and dried dirt.

“I will leave you to your solitude, my lady.” He said with a short bow. Sylvie inclined her head and Dorian turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Sylvie called as she pulled herself to her feet. The conversation with Dorian had unfortunately brought her back to the here and now. “I'll walk back with you. No doubt some other crisis has arisen since I wandered off.”

The pair walked slowly back to Haven, Sylvie politely enquiring about Dorians past as they went. Quickly, Dorians responses turned to the Circle.

“I find it all endlessly fascinating, you see.” He told her as they came upon the drilling troops by Havens gate. As much as Sylvie had felt like she had quickly taken to the other mage (travelling through time did tend to speed up a friendship, she imagined) The Circle of Magi was a painful, delicate topic to discuss with anyone. Especially a, technically, relative stranger. Dorian eyed her carefully, folding his arms as he stopped to watch the soldiers.

“Where did a Circle mage learn to fight?” He asked, changing the topic to Sylvie's relief. “ I'm not saying you're astounding,” he added and Sylvie rolled her eyes, “but passable and- most importantly- not dead.”

Sylvie laughed, the sound startling her almost as much as the drilling recruits who looked their way.

“I suppose that's what matters really, isn't it?” Sylvie replied. “Believe me, if you had seen me a few months ago you would find my still breathing all the more miraculous.”

She proceeded to tell him that yes, Circle mages did indeed have little to no practical experience when it came to fighting using their powers. On top of that a life spent inside a Circle Tower where the only exercise was traversing up and down stairs did not exactly make a person athletic.

“That first trip into the Hinterlands,” she told him, “nearly killed me before we'd even come across any rebel mages or rogue Templars.” Sylvie paused as they watched a recruit nearly beheaded with a practice sword. They heard the Commander shouting something unintelligible, making gestures with what appeared to be an invisible shield.

“I hadn't been on a horse in almost fifteen years and that first night we broke for camp...” she smiled ruefully, “I think it was four hours before I felt like my legs would close properly.” Dorian raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak but Sylvie held up her hand to stop him.

“No jokes, please.” She told him and he closed his mouth with a scowl. “Running around was even worse, and then there was the fights themselves.” Sylvie gestured to where Cassandra was swinging a sword viciously at a helpless practice dummy. “The Seeker would remove her helm, barely out of breath with only an elegant bead of sweat on her brow where as I would collapse to the ground, lungs exploding, with a bright red face dripping in sweat.”

Dorian turned to regard her thoughtfully, “You seemed perfectly respectable during our lovely visit to the future.”

“Three months of running around does tend to improve a persons fitness ...and physique might I add,” Sylvie replied with a shrug. “Cassandra helped too- breathing exercises ...actual exercises. She's really been quite wonderful with me, although I can't be sure if that's purely because she feels she has to for the sake of the Inquisition or because she may actually like me.”

Dorian tapped his lips thoughtfully, “If I had to make an educated guess,” he replied, “I would say both.”

Sylvie laughed softly, “You're probably right.” She looked across at the training grounds just in time to see the Commander averting his eyes, brows furrowed in a slight frown.

“The Commander on the other hand,” she began, “is definitely only interested in my well being for the Inquisitions sake. Can't close a Breach without a magic hand.” She turned slightly to face Dorian, voice sarcastic, “or he's concerned this mysterious 'Vint is trying to steal The Herald of Andraste's soul.”

Dorian snorted, “I think Commander Cullen has more sense than a superstitious fish wife, no?”

“When it comes to mages, I doubt it.” Sylvie replied with a shrug, “Templars see blood magic and abominations every where they look.”

Sylvie stretched her back, rolling her shoulder muscles as she pulled herself onto a nearby crate. Once sitting she felt the tension in her legs lessen. Her body had taken quite the beating in Redcliffe and it was still causing her great discomfort to stand for too long. While still in Haven she intended to sit down as much as physically possible. Dorian followed her and leaned on the crate beside her.

“You are aware, my dear,” Dorian said, “that our handsome Commander is _not_ a member of the Templar Order any longer?” Sylvie threw up her hands.

“So people keep saying but a Templar is a Templar whether they are part of the order or not.” She paused, folding her arms across her chest defensively. “They still distrust all mages, they still take their lyrium and they can still squash your powers with a flick of the wrist.” Sylvie could feel herself scowling across the yard at the Commander. Her gaze quickly turned back to Dorian as she saw the Commander looking up from a report he had been handed.

“Have you actually tried to have a conversation with him?” Dorian asked exasperatedly. When Sylvie opened her mouth to reply Dorian cut her off, “I mean outside of your cosy little war room?”

Sylvie scowled, “Well ...no but...”

“You should.” Dorian replied firmly. “He is horrified by what the Order has become and utterly passionate about this little Inquisition you have here. Not to mention,” he continued with a small smirk, “utterly delectable as he rants on. I think I truly only heard about half off what he said to me.”

Sylvie made a face, “Why? Thinking of what else he could do with a flick of his wrist?” she asked sarcastically.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Dorian responded bluntly, “My, you know me so well already.” Sylvie hopped down from the crate, dusting herself off as she turned to face the other mage.

“So you...” she began. Dorian stood up straight and folded his arms across his chest.

“Prefer a friendly joust to a dutiful plough?” He replied. Sylvie could hear the defensiveness bristling slightly in his tone.

“Not ..exactly how I would have phrased it but, yes, I suppose that description will do.” Sylvie said. “I didn't realise.” she added and Dorian gave out a dry laugh.

“How could you? I am not in the habit of introducing myself with 'Dorian of House Pavus- I enjoy peach brandy and cock.'” His face turned serious in spite of Sylvies laughter. “I would hope that this isn't going to cause an issue?”

Sylvie shrugged, “No, it's just...” she glanced away. Dorian would have soundly described her as crestfallen if he couldn't see the corners of her mouth straining not to smile. He put his hand on her shoulder.

“My poor, sweet Sylvie,” Dorian said with an over dramatic sigh, “have I broken your sheltered little Circle heart?” Sylvie looked wistfully into the distance and sighed.

“You truly have,” she replied, putting her hand over her heart. “However will I push on to close the Breach knowing that Dorian Pavus will never love me?” Her serious expression lasted all of five seconds before she dissolved into a fit of laughter. After a minute or so she composed herself and slapped him on the arm.

“That was for the sheltered comment.” She explained, looking at Dorian reproachfully.

“If I have given any offence, my lady, then I humbly beg forgiveness.” Dorian bowed mockingly and Sylvie laughed again.

While he had never doubted his decision to stay in Haven, Dorian felt immense satisfaction that the woman he had chosen to fight beside seemed to be such a like minded soul. He told Sylvie as much, reiterating the point he had made about not wanting to get stranded in time again, even if it was with such a delightful companion.

“Agreed,” Sylvie replied with a nod. “As alternatives I can offer the following activities- stabbed by a rogue Templar, blown up by a Fade rift or mauled by a bear.” She ticked them off on her fingers as she listed them. Dorian hmm-ed and tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“How shall I ever decide which to try first. Come, my dear,” he said, offering his arm to Sylvie. She slipped her arm through his as they walked to Havens gate.

“Firstly, I'm of a mind to steal your soul after all. Over a nice bottle of wine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you've enjoyed this first chapter. This is my first piece of fanfiction in a decade and I will freely admit that I've put this posting off for almost two months.  
> The wonderful world of Thedas and many amazing fics here inspired me to return to writing. Okay- so Thedas, amazing fics and Cullen Rutherford. I currently am running without a beta or person/persons to bounce ideas off so will happily accept any and all offers of constructive criticism/friendliness! This fic will, of course, cover events from the game with the focus being on 'off-screen' scenarios with the in game content condensed as much as possible to avoid reader boredom. Dorian opening up early about his sexuality to Sylvie is one of only a couple of divergences from canon that I have planned. It was important for his and Sylvie's relationship that this be defined early (felt that it required a quick explanation).


	2. Expecting An Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen is exasperated, handed a lot of paperwork and receives a very confusing apology.

Cullen closed his eyes tight against the morning sun, fingers rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to keep his growing headache at bay. Whether it was from another sleepless night or the sluggish, yawning recruits in front of him- he couldn't be completely sure. It seemed most everything made his head pound these days, ever since he had made the decision to stop taking lyrium. The nights were the hardest. When he was lying in his tent with nothing to distract his mind Cullen could hear the soft hum of the nearby lyrium supplies in the Chantry. It was a relatively small crate for the relatively small amount of Templars currently with the Inquisition but it was just enough to produce a low, seductive thrum in the quiet of the night. Cullen swallowed hard and forced his eyes back open. He had far too much work to do to dwell on the cause of his pain, the cause of the shaking he could feel in his very bones.

“Do any of you think that a demon will stop to consider that you have not long emerged from your beds?” Cullen all but snapped. He took a deep breath as the men and women in the yard shook their heads in response. “I understand,” he continued more patiently, “that some on you may have never held a sword in your lives but I will not accept that as an excuse for giving any less in training than our experienced soldiers.” As few as they are, Cullen thought quietly to himself. The recruits gave a hearty 'Yes, Ser!' before Cullen split them into smaller groups to be over seen by his Lieutenants.

It was never going to be easy- building the Inquisition from nothing with no Chantry support, no real infrastructure and no leader. Sometimes Cullen thought it might be impossible, especially now there was also a giant hole in the sky to worry about. Having the recently declared Herald of Andraste as their figure head had certainly helped garner support, in spite of her being a Circle Mage. Cullen felt his brow knit together in a slight frown. He hadn't spoken to the Herald much, if at all, outside the war room. So little, in fact, that Cullen had begun to suspect that she avoided him intentionally. It was understandable from her point of view. Like most mages The Herald would have strong opinions on Templars and potentially unpleasant memories of the things that they could do to their charges in the Circles. As such, Cullen had opted to give her as much space as required but _then_ he had snapped rather impulsively when she had returned from Redcliffe with news of the rebel mages recruitment. Immediately, Cullen had regretted his behaviour and even more so when he had read the Herald's report in his tent that night. She had gone into details, more graphically than she had to, her handwriting becoming more and more illegible as she went on. He had resolved to seek her out, apologise for his behaviour and perhaps even inquire after her well being. Cullen understood better than most how the things a person has seen can affect them long after the fact. Every time he had seen her, however, she had been flitting from place to place not stopping for a second. Perhaps he could ask her to wait for a moment after the council meeting later today.

One of Leliana's runners jogged up to him, a stack of parchments in hand. Cullen took them with a brief nod of thanks and turned his immediate attention to the reports. He could feel eyes on him from the runner still standing next to him, Cullen incorrectly assuming that the man had left the instant his job was completed.

“Was there something else?” He asked impatiently. Cullen glanced up from the page briefly to catch sight of green eyes peering thoughtfully at him, one obscured slightly by a lock of loose, brown hair. “Lady Herald!” Cullen looked up fully, shoulders squaring back into a position of attention. “Forgive me, I hadn't heard you approach.”

“Those reports must be fascinating then,” The Herald replied, “I have been accused of being many things but 'stealthy' isn't one of them.”

“Fascinating would not be my word choice,” Cullen said, “missives from Leliana's scouts reporting on the progress of the mages journeying from Redcliffe.” Cullen realised his tone must have been more disapproving than he meant it to be when he saw The Herald scowl and cross her arms defensively.

“Do we have a problem, Commander?” The Herald asked him, her voice sharp.

“What? No! Why would you...” Cullen was taken a back by the question. He had just been thinking about how little they had interacted with each other and he could have sworn that he had only ever been polite and encouraging during council sessions. He definitely hadn't been rude in the thirty seconds she had been standing there. Which meant that there was only one thing she could mean. “I assume you were referring to my reaction upon your return from Redcliffe?” The Herald narrowed her eyes and tilted her head.

“Yes, Commander, your shouting 'What were you thinking?' in the Chantry was what I was referring to.” She replied. Cullen could see the brewing anger in her eyes, as if she were actually here _looking_ for an argument. He decided to take it as a fateful opportunity to deliver the apology he had been planning.

“I will admit that in the ...heat of the moment I was angry.” Cullen told her, “and concerned about the potential consequences of so many mages here in Haven when we have so few Templars to deal with any...” he hesitated, looking at The Herald scowling at him expectantly, “...situations.”

Cullen saw The Herald bite the inside of her cheek, eyes closing for a few brief seconds as if trying to choose her words carefully. He took advantage of her silence and ploughed on.

“However, you were tasked with finding us allies- we left the decision in your hands and you made it, the way you thought best.” The Herald's scowl lessened which Cullen took as good sign and continued. “While it wasn't the decision I would have made, I understand it and you will always have my full support- even when I disagree.” He gave her a small, what he hoped, reassuring smile, “I apologise for how I expressed my views in the Chantry and for any ill will I may have caused.”

The Heralds arms unfolded, dropping to her sides. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she frowned- looking more than a little confused. Cullen chuckled lightly in spite of himself.

“Had you expected an argument, Lady Herald?” He asked her, his free hand clasping around the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip. Cullen had noticed that she had frowned, ever so briefly, at being called Herald. A habit he had observed across the war table. He wondered if she realised. She eventually grinned some what sheepishly at him, scratching the top of her head.

“Well as a matter of fact ...yes.” She replied, straightening herself up to meet his gaze, “Honestly I actually had a whole speech planned, including counter points to anything I thought you might say.”

“So you had this whole conversation in your head before you came over here?” Cullen asked and The Herald nodded, “Well I _do_ always believe in being prepared when entering an unknown situation.”

“You say you understand my choice,” she said, quickly directing the subject away from her forwardly planned disagreement, “but I've never actually explained ...to any of you.”

“An explanation wasn't necessary,” Cullen replied, “not to me- not when I took the time to consider the situation from your perspective. As the one with the mark you understand best what _you_ will need to seal the Breach and clearly you felt that more power is needed. More power than you alone can provide.” He paused as she nodded, “but you are not just The Herald of Andraste, you are a mage and those other mages are your people.”

Years ago if someone had told him that he would be able to utter words like that, Cullen would have stared at them in disbelief. He still felt shame whenever he remembered how he used to view mages. The Herald had proven herself a compassionate and driven individual, increasingly more dedicated to the Inquisition with every excursion she took, with every victim of the Mage/Templar war that she helped- no matter how trivial the task may seem. That he would have once considered her as not even a  _person_ made him feel marginally ill.

The Herald looked at him with another expression of surprise before her lips split into a small genuine smile- the first time Cullen had seen such an expression on her. Well, when he had been around her at least- she had seemed free with her smiles the previous evening when he spotted her across the training grounds with Dorian, the mage who had been so integral in the victory at Redcliffe. Judging from the reports, Dorian had almost single handedly prevented the horrible future they had seen there coming to pass, keeping The Herald focussed and alive and casting the spell that sent them back to their time. Unlike The Herald, Dorian had been alone more often than not since the party returned and Cullen had made a point to seek him out and thank him for his efforts. Another thing he would never have previously done.

“You get it.” The Herald said eventually, still smiling somewhat before her face softened, “I didn't expect that. Especially not from you.”

“Me?” Cullen replied, confused.

“You know?” She said waving a hand around, “the whole you being a Templar thing.”

“I serve the order no longer.” Cullens reply was terser than he meant it to be but Maker was he getting tired of having to tell people. The Herald appeared not to notice as she let out a most unladylike huff.

“So people keep telling me! I just ...I suppose _I'm_ the one who doesn't understand.”

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall,” Cullen began, leading The Herald away from where the recruits were beginning to spar and walking her down a row of tents. “I was there during the mage uprising- I saw first hand the devastation it caused.” He was briefly interrupted by another report being handed to him but continued to talk as he looked at it. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.” They stopped at the end of the tent row, Cullen quickly scanning the parchment in his hand.

“The Conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky,” The Herald replied, “things aren't looking good.” 

Cullen nodded, “Which is why we're needed. The Chantry lost control of both Templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains.” He handed all of his reports to the scout who was still hovering but his eyes never left The Herald. “The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There's so much our followers can-” Cullen shook his head. “Forgive me, you did not come here for a lecture.”

The Herald was staring at him, her eyes seemed curious but her face was a mask of polite blankness. A blankness Cullen had often seen on the faces of the other Nobles he had met. She blinked a couple of times as if shaking off whatever was running through her head before replying.

“If you'll recall, Commander, I did initially come here for an argument,” green eyes glinted with amusement and her lips curved into another smile, “but if you have a lecture prepared I would love to hear it.” Cullen laughed softly.

“Another time, perhaps.” He looked to The Herald who, while still smiling, was regarding him with a tilted head and puzzled eyes. Cullen absently rubbed the back of his neck, “was there something else on your mind, Lady Herald?”

There! Cullen noticed- the frown again. Someone really should tell her. If he noticed then other people would too and it didn't exactly look good for the Inquisition if their figure head was so clearly disdainful of her position.

“What?” The Herald replied, startled, before straightening back up to full height. “No! Nothing else, Commander. My mind was just ...elsewhere.”

“Well I am sure your mind has much to process these days, we all have a lot of work still to do.” As if on queue another scout called to him as he approached with yet more parchment clutched in his hands. “As I was saying...” Cullen said, giving The Herald a brief nod and a wry smile before walking away.

“Commander!” The Herald called from behind him, closing the distance between them with two long strides. She dismissed the scout with a quick gesture. “I owe you an apology.”

Cullen frowned, “I don't recall any incidents...”

“I have been unfair,” she continued as if he'd never spoken, “I've been unpleasant and insubstantially judgemental about you. Much in the same way people are about mages.” 

Cullen was sure his frown was deepening, confusion etched all over his face. “While you may have been more ...distant with me than with with anyone else you have always been perfectly ...polite.” The Herald reddened slightly, refusing to meet Cullens eyes as she replied.

“Not to your face but to some ...others and in my own thoughts I've been...” she screwed her face up as she searched for the word, “unkind.”

“Ah, I see...” was all Cullen could think to reply, confusion turning to surprise.

“However,” The Herald went on, “it has recently been brought to my attention that you may, in fact, have more sense than a superstitious fish wife and it seems that is indeed true so ...I am sorry, Commander, for thinking that you were just another mage hating Templar ...and a fish wife.”

Cullen blinked a few times waiting to be sure the very confusing rant was over before responding slowly.

“Apology ...accepted?” Even to his own ears it sounded more like a question than a statement. The Herald, however, appeared satisfied. She finally met his gaze and nodded curtly before turning on her heel and striding off without another word. Cullen watched, bemused, an errant breeze catching The Herald's brown hair and fur cloak as she made her way back to Havens gate. Shaking off the rather bizarre encounter, Cullen returned to his work- making a mental note to check if The Herald had recently been treated for a head wound. Or if, perhaps, she was always a bit ...flighty and he just hadn't spent enough time with her to realise. Cassandra would know, Cullen would check with her later when she came down to the training yard to beat on unsuspecting dummies.

Belatedly he realised that he had forgotten to mention the tiny frown in response to her new title. Just a little line he'd often noticed appear in between her green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read Chapter 1, and thank you to those who have come back for seconds! This chapter is up a little sooner than I will usually update but I go back to work tomorrow after a week off so decided to get this typed up and out into the world while my mind wasn't full of work nonsense. I write so that I am always a chapter and a half ahead of my 'planned' posting schedule so I am currently aiming for 1 to 2 chapters a week. Again, all feedback is welcome! And feel free to point out if you notice any typos etc- I freak out a considerable amount and read over things so many times that I think I actually stop seeing the words!


	3. Tent Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvie and Dorian try to help and fail miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the reads/bookmarks/kudos. Apologies that it took longer than I planned to get this posted. Real life did that fun thing it does and happened. Enjoy!

Often with apprentices, a Senior Enchanter had once told her, it was clear from early in their time in the Circle what branch of magic they would specialise in if and when said apprentice passed their Harrowing. In the Circle of Ostwick if had, in fact, become a gambling opportunity among most of the junior and some senior enchanters.

The day after Sylvie had completed her Harrowing, once she had finished moving her belongings three floors up to her new quarters, she presented herself to the First Enchanter to receive her Lyrium infused ring and discuss the future direction of her studies. Sylvie had, of course, already planned a bright, accolade filled future in the use and study of Inferno magic and she refused to be told otherwise. The First Enchanter was of the same mind, ensuring to give Sylvie a strongly worded lecture on how very dangerous and unpredictable a specialisation it was. With a smile and a short bow, Sylvie had picked up her new staff and robes from the First Enchanters desk before asking, with a wry grin, who had won the bet. The First Enchanter had sighed and steepled her fingers under her chin.

"The winnings, meagre as they are, have been distributed between nine out of the ten people who even bothered to place a bet. From a young age, Sylvie, it has been more than apparent the branch of magic you were most suited to."

The First Enchanter had then gone on to liken her to a glyph of fire cast on the ground- unassuming and dormant but easily triggered. Quick to explode and quick to burn out, tempestuous and, above all else, dangerous in the wrong circumstances. In the six years since that day, Sylvie felt that she hadn't changed. She was still swift to anger and even swifter to fizzle out. Personality traits that had allowed her to form such precise control over flames- summoning and dismissing with ease- but also had caused more than one problem in her social interactions.

It was due to these facts about her nature that she had approached the Commander ready for an argument before the poor man had even had a chance to open his mouth. However, with a brief explanation and a seemingly sincere apology, he had quelled her anger like snow fall on a fire pit. As often happened to Sylvie when someone identified her desire to argue, she was left trying to quickly figure out where to take their conversation from that point. Even when she had decided, choosing to explain her decisions, the Commander had caught her off guard _again_ by succinctly explaining her decision almost word for word the same way she would have phrased it. Which was why she was now wandering in search of breakfast wearing what must have been a fairly bemused expression.

She followed the smell of fried bread to The Singing Maiden and pushed her way inside. Obviously having arrived too late, Sylvie's stomach grumbled with dismay when she saw that the platters on the bar were completely empty, clearly all picked clean earlier. Flissa was piling them together ready to return to the Chantry kitchen but stopped to pour a mug of tea that Sylvie accepted with thanks. Turning from the bar she spotted Dorian sitting alone at a table in the corner and made her way to sit down across from him. In no small part because he had a plate of food on the table. She sat, reaching across the table to pluck a slice of fried bread from Dorian's plate. He smacked her hand lightly but didn't hinder her theft further.

"Just because you chose to have a lovely long rest this morning doesn't mean you can waltz in here and pilfer my hard earned breakfast." Dorian finally said as Sylvie happily munched on her stolen goods.

"Hard earned?" She asked, eyebrow raised sceptically as she took another bite.

"I'll have you know I almost found myself in a bar fight over the last rasher of bacon. Such a barbaric business it is having breakfast here in the South." Dorian slid his plate over to Sylvies side of the table, waving a hand to indicate she was free to finish what was left. "Where, actually,  _have_ you been this morning? Usually you're running around Haven before the sun is even up." Sylvie shrugged dismissively, washing down a few mouthfuls of cold sausage before replying.

"I took your advice." She said, leaning back in her seat and cradling the warm mug in both hands.

"Most people do- or at least they should." Dorian drained the last of his own tea and placed it carefully on the now empty plate. "Would this happen to be my advice to chat with the Commander?" Sylvie nodded and Dorian looked very pleased with himself. When she didn't elaborate Dorian raised his eyebrows expectantly, "...and?"

"You were right." Sylvie mumbled into the rim of her mug, suddenly finding the dark liquid inside it very fascinating.

"What was that?" Dorian asked leaning forward with a smirk and cupping his hand round one ear. "Do speak up, my dear." Sylvie huffed into her tea.

"You were right about him. I went to him, ready for a confrontation and got none- he even figured out that I was there to  _probably_ have an argument. So then, I decided to explain my decision to recruit the mages but he had figured that out too!" Sylvie paused and look a mouthful of tea, "eventually the conversation switched to his being and ex-Templar and how I just don't get it."

"Ah," Dorian responded, reclining back again, "did you get a wondrously exuberant speech in reply?" Sylvie nodded.

"I did and I will willingly concede that he is obviously not the kind of man I thought he was. He's clearly dedicated-heart and soul- to the Inquisition and he's definitely disillusioned with The Templar Order but..."

"But?" Dorian rolled his eyes.

"I still don't think he could ever trust mages, from what I've heard he's just been through too much, and whether he left the order or not they'll always have him bound by his Lyrium leash." Sylvie finished her tea and sat the mug down as Dorian sighed.

"You  _have_ changed your opinion somewhat, yes?" He asked earning him a non-committal shrug.

"I suppose so," Sylvie stared off in thought. She  _did_ feel less irrational distaste towards him. He had seemed a pleasant and intelligent man. Perhaps someone that she  _could_ stand to converse with of her on volition and not just when forced to in the war room. She told Dorian as much earning her another sigh. Sylvie narrowed her eyes at him. "Why does it bother you so much?" Dorian leaned forward, hands resting on the table.

"My silly Sylvie," he started, taking one of her hands in his, "do you think no one noticed that The Herald of Andraste hates one of the Inquisitions default leaders?" Sylvie tried to pull her hand away but Dorian gave it a more than patronising pat. "This little venture is barely off the ground- you can't afford  _not_ to present a united front. Especially when you consider the example the two of you will set for others as an ex-Templar and ex-Circle Mage."

Sylvie looked away. He was right.  _Again._ There was no possible way she was going to tell him that twice in one morning , however, so she gave his hand a squeeze and refused to meet his eyes. Dorian released her hand and stood from the table, offering her his arm.

"Now the serious business is dealt with for the morning, care to join me for a stroll, my Lady?"

Sylvies instant reacted was to politely decline. She had planned on spending her morning helping the troops prepare the camp for the arrival of the mages before her lunchtime war room meeting. She could see the hopefulness concealed, just barely, in Dorian's eyes. Sylvie was sure he would never admit it but she knew that being surrounded by people with an open hatred and distrust of him must be achingly lonely. Perhaps even more lonely than being surrounded by people who worshipped you as a false idol. With that thought in mind, Sylvie stood and slipped her arm through his and they made their way back outside. If she could be his lifeline then he could be the same for her.

"I do have work I was hoping to get done," Sylvie told him, steering them towards and out of Havens gate, "and I would certainly be grateful of your help. I'm sure everyone would."

"As a servant of the Inquisition I am yours to command, Lady Herald." Dorian replied, earning himself a light punch on the arm from Sylvie's free hand.

"I'll take that as a 'yes I would very much like to help and spend time with my new found friend'." Sylvie looked over to the sparring recruits as they made their way past them to their destination. Dorian snorted.

"My only friend, you mean." Out of the corner of her eye Sylvie could see that there was no humour on Dorian's face, his jaw clenched and mouth tight.

"Likewise." Sylvie returned lightly but she hoped Dorian could hear the sincerity in her voice. For now, at least, it felt quite a bit like each other was all they had. Dorian's friends and family were presumably thousands of miles away in Tevinter. She hadn't seen her family in nearly fifteen years and  _her_ friends were either on the run as apostates, killed by Templars or blown up at the Conclave that inexplicably spat her back out. Dorian said nothing but Sylvie could have sworn that his grip on her arm tightened. They continued briefly in silence before reaching the partially formed camp that would house the mages from Redcliffe. The Lieutenant overseeing the operation appeared momentarily startled by their presence before quickly striding over and saluting with a fist to his chest. Sylvie thoroughly preferred  _that_ to people bowing to her. She slipped her arm from Dorian's and returned the gesture.

"We are here to assist, Lieutenant." Sylvie told him. The soldier shook his head and opened his mouth to protest but Sylvie silenced him with a wave of her hand. "There's clearly a lot of work to do in order to accommodate the people that  _I_ invited here so, please, just pretend we are two normal soldiers and point to where you'd like us."

"Right..." The Lieutenant began, "well Soldiers," he said with the slightest of smirks that Sylvie returned, "there's still plenty of tents to put together so hop to it! Uh ...Your Worship." He looked somewhat sheepish at having slipped so easily into barking commands at The Herald of Andraste that Sylvie had to laugh.

"Yes, Ser!" She replied, saluting before dragging Dorian off to a row of flat tents. They stopped and stared at the first one and Dorian gave her a pointed look.

"Why do I get the feeling that we are about to horribly embarrass ourselves by being hopeless?" He asked. Sylvie put her hands on her hips, still staring at the pile of canvas and poles as if she could simply will it to pop into formation.

"I've been in tents plenty of times since I fell out of the sky and I made a point of getting Varric to teach me how to put one together on the first night we ever camped." Sylvie sighed and dropped to the ground to begin sorting through the pile. "We can do this."

Almost an hour and no tents later, Dorian dropped the poles he was holding with a sound of disgust. One of the poles bounced off a stone and immediately collided with Sylvie's chin. She scowled up at him from where she was kneeling before turning sharply to the recruits next to them who had finally been unable to hold back their laughter at the tragic display. They shrunk from her gaze and Sylvie couldn't stop herself from collapsing into a fit of giggles. She flung herself backwards into the pile of canvas.

"I yield!" She cried, causing almost everyone in the vicinity to turn and stare. "Consider your Herald defeated by the mighty Tent of Haven!" The Lieutenant who had set them to the task was the first to join in Sylvies laughter and the other soldiers and workers quickly followed suit. The laughter died down in a rippling wave and Sylvie sat up, canvas now wrapped around her head and shoulders like a cloak, to see that the appearance of the Commander had caused the mirth to disperse. He looked down at her, up to Dorian and then back to her, his brown eyes puzzled.

“Herald?” He enquired, hands coming to rest instinctively on the pommel of his sword.

“Commander.” Sylvie politely replied with an incline of her covered head. The Commander raised an eyebrow in silent question. “Ah ...this ...I wanted to assist in the preparations for the arrival of the mages but I was vanquished by this tent demon here.” She saw the scarred side of the Commanders mouth twitch as if he were holding back a smile.

“I am unfamiliar with tent demons, my Lady,” he replied, “perhaps we should arrange some extra combat training for yourself and the soldiers in case they spawn again?”

Sylvie tilted her head and regarded the Commander carefully. Captain Uptight was  _joking_ with her- an interesting development if ever she saw one. Before she could respond, Dorian piped up from the Commanders side.

“Perhaps the Commander would be kind enough to assist in pitching a tent for us?” He said, giving Sylvie a mischievous look. Sylvie pulled some canvas over her mouth to hide the grin she could feel forming. She promptly pulled it away, however, when she discovered that the material smelled like sweat and nug ass. From the look on the Commanders face, Sylvie could tell that Dorians double entendre had gone straight over his blond head.

“I was actually looking for the Herald,” the Commander said, nodding at Sylvie. “We have received another missive regarding the mages progress from Redcliffe and Leliana has called our meeting early.” Sylvie indicated that she understood and began rummaging around in her giant cloak for the gloves she had removed earlier.

“Looking for these?” Dorian asked as he flung the missing garments at her. One struck her on the nose, the smell of leather strong on her senses.

“Thank you for that.” Sylvie replied sarcastically as she pulled the gloves on. They were soft and supple, already moulded to the shape of her hands, and fingerless to allow better control over her staff during battle.

“Were you intending to wear this tent demon to the war room?” The Commander asked. Sylvie laughed as she disentangled herself. She could feel her hair sticking out in all directions, her bun having fallen loose in all the amusement. When she looked up, the Commander was giving her an odd look. In turn Dorian was giving the _Commander_ an odd look. Sylvie opted to look at them _both_ oddly. Dorian raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he met her eyes. The moment was interrupted by the arrival of the Lieutenant beside them. He saluted the Commander before looking down at Sylvie.

“Leaving so soon, Lady Herald?” He asked her, still looking amused over her miserable failure.

“I am afraid so,” Sylvie replied, “I can assure you I shall not interfere with tent construction again. Just call on me if you require something set on fire.”

The lieutenant saluted with a fist over his heart and Sylvie returned the gesture but the effect was somewhat lost since she was still cross-legged on the ground. She was growing to enjoy it- perhaps she should declare that  _all_ meetings be held on the floor. The Lieutenant nodded curtly to the Commander before departing. Sylvie became suddenly aware that with the ongoing pain in her legs that standing up was not going to be a graceful display. Before she could even attempt to struggle to her feet, the Commander reached a hand down to her. She had thought that, perhaps, the Commander was continuing their blossoming mocking rapport so when she caught the softness in his eyes and the small smile on his lips, Sylvie was mildly surprised. She supposed that  _this_ was what Dorian had meant by 'our handsome Commander'. Objectively speaking. Sylvie took the offered hand and allowed the Commander to pull her to her feet with seemingly very little effort. Dorian cleared his throat beside them and Sylvie turned to him after letting go of the Commanders hand and inclining her head in silent thanks.

“Join me later in the tavern?” Dorian asked and Sylvie nodded.

“Where are you off to?” She asked him.

“I believe I will assist Apothecary Adan for the afternoon- demonstrate some astounding knowledge to make up for the humiliation of the last hour.” He nodded briefly at both Sylvie and the Commander before heading back towards Haven. With a start, Sylvie wondered why they all hadn't just walked back together since Dorian had strode off along the same path that she and the Commander would have to follow.

He'd left her here alone with the Commander on purpose. Sneaky. Little. Ram testicle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write everything by hand and then type it up/edit it. I do have the next chapter written so am blindly hoping to have it typed and posted by Sunday night as I am going on holiday for a week on Monday. If not, see you in a bit!


	4. Call Me Herald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a little longer than I'd hoped to get this typed and posted! Now I'm back from my holiday I should be able to get back on track of 1 to 2 updates a week. I even wrote a chapter while lying on a beach with a beer, magical! Thanks again to everyone reading and for the kudos/subs/comments.

After his bizarre apology from The Herald earlier that morning, Cullen had approached Cassandra as planned and relayed what had happened. Cassandra had snorted and dropped her sword to her side mid-swing.

"The Herald apologised to you and you are concerned about her mental state?" She asked him.

"When you put it like _that_ of course it sounds ridiculous." Cullen retorted. "She just seemed a little..."

"Flighty?" Cassandra offered helpfully.

"Yes, exactly!" Cullen was pleased that he wasn't the only one who had thought it. Cassandras brow furrowed as she looked off thoughtfully.

"You will be aware from my reports the particular branch of magic she favours?" Cullen nodded his assent and Cassandra continued, "and you will also be aware from your time in the Circles that a mages magic use often reflects who they are as a person?"

"The Herald favours Inferno magic..." Cullen began but the the Seeker cut him off.

"She is not going to accidentally blow up Haven, if that is your concern." She told him and Cullen scowled at her.

"The thought hadn't occurred to me ...until you helpfully pointed it out." Cullen gave Cassandra a small smirk and she made a sound of disgust when she realised that he was trying to make a joke. Cassandra sheathed her sword and turned fully to face Cullen, arms folded.

"Sylvie is..." The Seekers frown deepened as she searched for the appropriate words, "both unpredictable and impulsive- that is perhaps this so called 'flightiness' you have observed. She angers quickly but can also calm just as easily." Cullen felt those were not exactly traits that were preferable in a semi-religious figurehead and he told Cassandra as much. "I agree, although I am, perhaps, the last person who should judge the ill temper of another." Cassandra gave Cullen a look as if challenging him to pass a remark. He kept his mouth shut. He had spent years surrounded by strong (and quite frankly _scary_ ) women so was well aware of when to shut up. "However," Cassandra continued when Cullen didn't say anything, "I have also seen her be warm and inviting- drawing people in like a fire place in a snow storm and I believe that with time and the correct guidance Sylvie could be most effective in her role as Herald."

Cullen was fairly certain that his eyebrows were somewhere in his hair by the time Cassandras speech was over. The Seeker was not a woman to dish out praise lightly- even declaring that The Herald had potential was a strong endorsement indeed.

"Perhaps if you took some time to engage with her outside of the war room you would know these things, Commander." Cassandra gave him a pointed look. "Do not think it has gone unnoticed that The Herald and yourself have spent time interacting with everyone but each other."

"I can assure you that it was not _entirely_ my doing," Cullen replied, "The Herald was clearly uncomfortable in my presence from the start and I wanted to provide her with the space she required."

"That ' _space_ ' has developed into rumours of distaste and distrust between the two of you- an appearance we cannot afford. I can assume that perceptions will now improve after the apologies this morning?" Cullen nodded, suddenly feeling very much like he was five years old again and being scolded by his mother for fighting with his siblings. "Good." Cassandra unsheathed her sword again and turned back to the hapless training dummy. A runner chose that moment to appear, seemingly out of thin air, declaring that Sister Leliana had called the war council earlier than planned after a missive received that morning from a scout. Cullen thanked him but as he went to take off again, Cullen placed a hand on the runners shoulder.

"I will go and find The Herald. Please inform Sister Leliana we will be there shortly." Cullen told him. The runner nodded and headed back towards the Chantry. Cullen looked back to Cassandra and raised an eyebrow, "happy?"

"Thrilled."

Now, a short time later, after yet _another_ odd interaction Cullen was watching Dorian walk down the path to Haven before disappearing around the corner. Why he had left alone to walk the same direction that Cullen and The Herald would go seemed a peculiar choice. Although, this was the same man who had been content to stand and watch The Herald of Andraste lie giggling in a pile of tent materials. Cullen considered mentioning Dorian's departure but when he turned back to The Herald she was silently glaring down the path. Once again, Cullen chose to keep his mouth shut. He cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Shall we, my Lady?" He asked, perhaps softer that he intended but after what Cassandra had told him of The Heralds temper he was being somewhat more cautious. The Herald turned sharply to face him but the anger on her face quickly dissipated with a smile.

"Of course, Commander.” She replied and they began walking. Cullen couldn't be certain but the cheerfulness of her tone sounded somewhat forced. Whether it was because of his company or Dorians sudden departure was unclear. They passed through the camp for the mages in an awkward silence.

Cullen noticed movement from the corner of his eye and glanced over to see The Herald rearranging her brown hair back into it's usual bun. He had to admit that the sight of The Herald on the ground, dishevelled and laughing had caught him momentarily off-guard. He could only assume that _that_ was The Herald the others got to see- the warmth that Cassandra had spoken about earlier. When someone is raised to the status of religious saviour it was, perhaps understandably, difficult to remember that beneath the title was just a young woman. They came upon the drilling soldiers who, although putting in extra effort when they saw The Herald, were still clearly under skilled even to untrained eyes. They walked quickly passed them and up the stairs to Havens gate.

“Have some of them even _held_ a sword before now?” The Herald asked him quietly without ever taking her eyes off their surroundings. Cullen sighed before he could stop himself.

“No,” he replied as they came upon Varric by the fire outside his tent, “but they are trying. At this point it is all we can ask for.” The Herald gave the dwarf a wave as he looked up from the parchment he was scribbling on. “Is Varric writing your tale already?” Cullen broached, jokingly, as they rounded the stairs towards the Chantry. The Herald groaned audibly.

“Maker, I hope not,” she replied, “he should as least wait to see if I actually close the Breach- give himself more time to find a poetic way to write 'and then The Herald of Andraste exploded' in case I fail.” Cullen snorted then quickly composed himself.

“Forgive me,” he said quickly, “the possibility of you exploding is not a cause for amusement.”

“What's the old saying Commander? If I don't laugh, I'll cry?” The Herald gave him a sideways smirk before waving a dismissive hand, “besides, I was very pleased to discover earlier that you actually _have_ a sense of humour.”

“It has been known to happen from time to time.” Cullen responded with a smirk of his own. His tone became characteristically serious again as he stopped at the Chantry doors and turned to face The Herald. “I can assure you that I have the utmost faith in your success. We will succeed- _you_ will succeed.” Realising that he was heading towards another rant in The Heralds company, Cullen broke her gaze and rubbed his neck absently.

“That is ...nice to hear, Commander.” was all she said, her face having softened after frowning once again at the use of her title. Cullen gave her a small nod then pushed the Chantry door open for them, gesturing for her to go first.

They made it almost to the door of the war room before Cullen's mouth finally got the best of his brain, blurting “you frown” a bit too loudly, catching the attention of some nearby visitors and Chantry sisters. The Herald stopped in her tracks and turned to him confused. Cullen grimaced and gestured his head to an empty corner behind a pillar. The Herald faced him, arms folded, when they reached their seclusion.

“Excuse me?” She asked, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Cullen sighed and rubbed his neck.

“What I meant to say was,” he began, “I'm not sure if you are aware or not but you frown ...just slightly, whenever someone addresses you as Herald.” To Cullen's surprise, The Herald laughed and dropped her arms to her sides.

“Yes, in fact, it was brought to my attention very recently,” she replied. “I know it looks bad, I just need more practice at hiding it.” She paused and looked at him thoughtfully. Before Cullen could react, her hands were on his uppers arms, manoeuvring him so her was directly in front of her, their bodies only inches apart. He could feel her body heat radiating from her, wondering absently if that was also down to her preferred branch of magic. The Herald put her hands on her a hips, a determined look on her face.

“Right! Call me Herald.” She had her green eyes deadlocked into his. Cullen noticed for the first time how tall she was.

“Herald?” Instantly she frowned and Cullen shook his head. She huffed, scowling before making her face blank.

“Again.”

“Herald.” This time she _just_ managed not to frown but her expression was pained- jaw clenched tight and eyes a bit too wide. Cullen gave a low chuckle, “you didn't frown but I'm not entirely sure that the face you gave me was any better.” The Heralds expression turned offended.

“Commander!” She admonished. “Did no one ever tell you _not_ to insult a Lady's face?” Cullen wondered if he _looked_ as horrified as he felt.

“No! ...I mean yes ...I mean...” he took a deep breath, “I didn't mean to insult you. Your face is fine and...” He looked up to see The Herald failing to hold back a smile, “...and you're making fun of me.”

“I'm afraid so,” she chuckled, “but Maker's arse you go from 'in control Commander' to 'babbling idiot' quickly.” Cullen could feel the flush creeping up his cheeks, he could only hope The Herald couldn't see it in the dimness of the candlelight.

“Now who's being insulting?” He replied pointedly. She gave him a bright smile, one Cullen immediately would have referred to as 'cheeky'.

“I tend to be like that- you'll learn soon enough that if I'm making fun of you, then you're on my good side. It's a compliment really. Might I add,” she continued, “ that 'fine' is also not a great description of a woman's face.”

“I will endeavour to try harder next time- like you with your frown.” Cullen folded his arms across his chest, “although I was rather on the spot.”

“I suppose we both must persevere to overcome our weaknesses.” She said with a dramatic sigh.

“Indeed ...Herald.” Cullen quirked an eyebrow. The Heralds face was _almost_ passable that time, if a still a little strained. “Better.”

“Now you- try to improve on your _last_ compliment.” She rolled her eyes then folded her arms in a subconscious mirror of Cullen's own posture. Cullen regarded her face slowly. The candlelight was giving her usually pale skin a soft, ruddiness. Every so often the flames would flicker and catch her eyes- eyes just marginally on the side of larger than most, making her look that bit younger, as did the roundedness of her cheeks. As briefly as he could, Cullen glanced down to her mouth- something about being in a dark corner of a Chantry staring at a woman's lips seemed a bit too clandestine for his liking. Her lips were full and pink, if a little chapped from her recent time spent outside. All in all it was actually quite a pretty face, Cullen obviously not having looked quite long enough before now to notice. He was certain the The Herald's attractiveness certainly couldn't have hurt with her recruitment efforts.

“Feel free to say something, Commander.” The Herald's voice broke his chain of thought. Maker, he hadn't been staring for overly long, had he? He swallowed, perhaps too obviously from the way The Herald titled her head curiously.

“It is a ...nice face.” He answered weakly. Nice? Andraste preserve him, he could have at least said pretty. Objectively speaking.

“Well that's about as much of an improvement as my facial expressions.” The Herald eventually said with a laugh. Cullen let out an undignified harrumph. He was entirely uncomfortable with attempting to compliment The Herald in a dark, out of sight corner. Especially only hours after they had reached their uneasy accord. _If_ he ever intended to compliment her, he would do it on _his_ terms. And much more eloquently once he thought on it a bit more. He was _not_ a man to succumb to his weaknesses after all.

“Can we proceed to the war room now?” He asked, feeling another flush on his cheeks. Cullen got the horrible feeling from the smirk on The Herald's lips that she noticed his awkwardness and discomfort and was enjoying it far too much.

“Lead the way, Commander.”


	5. Cheddar

"Today?" Sylvie repeated Leliana's last word slowly, absently scratching the back of her head, "as in- this current day? As in before nightfall?"

"Yes, Herald," The Commander chimed in, "that tends to be the accepted definition of 'today'." Sylvie resisted the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him, opting to give him an over exaggerated scowl instead.

"Grant Enchanter Fiona leads a procession of around thirty mages ahead of the rest," Leliana interjected, folding her arms across her chest, "my scouts report the group is mostly children, accompanied by around ten senior Enchanters from various Circles based on the robes they wear."

"How far ahead of the main column are they?" The Commander asked, hands resting on the war table as he surveyed the map. Sylvie leaned in too, following The Commanders line of sight. He looked to be repeatedly tracing the route from Redcliffe to Haven.

"A day or so." Leliana responded. Sylvie turned her head to look at the Spymaster, some of her hair falling from behind her ear.

"Are there children in the rest of the groups?" She asked as she brought her hands up to rest on the table.

"A few," Leliana said, "but not as many and no where near as young." Sylvie nodded in understanding.

"The Grand Enchanter must want the must vulnerable of her people here as quickly as possible." The Commander said before Sylvie could get the words out. She stood up and nodded to him in agreement before stretching her back. When she looked to the Commander again she could have sworn that he had quickly averted his gaze.

"And I would wager that the Senior Enchanters are at least some of the ones she plans on working with to devise a plan for the Breach." Sylvie said confidently. Josephine began scribbling something furiously on her ledger without ever looking up. She began to speak.

"We should arrange a party to ride out to meet them- perhaps a small retinue of your Lieutenants?" She finally looked up to the Commander but Sylvie shook her head and spoke before he could.

"An accompaniment of soldiers bringing them into Haven might look too much like they are under guard. I offered them an alliance  _not_ conscription and I don't want it looking otherwise." Sylvie put her hands on her hips, peering thoughtfully at the map.

"What do you suggest, Herald?" The Commander asked. This time Sylvie actually  _felt_ herself frown. When she looked across the table to the Commander he was not so subtly stifling a smile.

" _I_ will ride out to meet them." Sylvie declared and turned to Leliana. "How far away are they?" Leliana plucked a piece of parchment from the table and quickly scanned it.

"At their current pace five, perhaps six hours. There have been some sightings of bandits- only a few small groups of no more than four- but it would still be dangerous to go alone." Leliana said. Sylvie had no intention of going alone. The plan had come to her suddenly in what she felt may be a stroke of diplomatic genius.

"The Commander will accompany me." Sylvie told them plainly, waiting for the protests to begin.

"My Lady Herald," Josephine was the first to speak up, "Commander Cullen is well known as a former Templar. His presence might be ...unnerving for some."

"I agree," the Commander piped up, " however I assume that you have some sort of thought process you would like to explain?" He was smirking at her again. An expression that was becoming as pleasant as it was infuriating.

"I would indeed," Sylvie began, "my being The Herald of Andraste  _and_ a Circle ...well  _ex_ -Circle Mage, and the Commanders position as an ex-Templar would show a united front. I think it would show that the Inquisition is an alliance of all sorts of people  _and_ remind them that they will be expected to work  _with_ Templars." Sylvie paused to give the Commander a pointed look, "just as I expect any Templars in Haven to work  _willingly_ with the mages. I'm not naive and I  _know_ that this many mages 'unsupervised' in one place has the potential for disaster but if everyone cooperates and tempers are kept in check I think we will be okay." There was a long pause in which the three advisors glanced at each other then back to Sylvie. "I'm done, by the way."

"A wonderful idea, Lady Herald." Josephine said. Sylvie noticed that the Ambassador was smiling like a proud mother watching a toddler take her first steps, Josephine pointed her quill at her. "Perhaps we will make a diplomat of you yet." At Josephine's pronouncement the Commander snorted loudly. All three woman turned to glare at him and he looked away quickly.

"Perhaps one day." Sylvie replied before turning to the Commander, "can you be ready to leave in an hour?" She asked him and he nodded his assent. "Excellent, we will meet at the stables. Leliana? You will make sure everything is in order?"

"Of course." Was the the Spymasters curt response as she gathered up her reports.

"Josephine, you may have to be on hand to smooth over any ...teething problems." Sylvie told her. "Other than that ...everybody good?" She asked. Sylvie was suddenly concerned that she had come over all bossy but the advisors all voiced their agreement. "Excellent. See you shortly, Commander." She gave him a nod before heading out of the war room. On her way out of the Chantry she stopped briefly to apprise Madame Vivienne of the situation and to tell her of the plan.

"Nicely done, my dear," the other Mage had responded, "I didn't think you had that level of diplomacy in you."

"Neither did I, to be honest," Sylvie told her with a chuckle, "but I saw an opportunity and ran with it." Vivienne regarded her carefully.

"Some day soon this fledgling organisation  _must_ name an Inquisitor and perhaps you may be the woman for the job after all." Vivienne told her. Sylvie shook her head.

"I'm not a leader, just someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Sylvie smiled, "or the right time, depending on who you ask."

"You may not be a leader now but your potential is growing," Vivienne countered, "you've been showing great promise in the weeks I've been here both on and off the field of battle." Sylvie wasn't sure if she was beaming but she certainly felt like it. While Madame Vivienne was haughty with a definite superiority complex, there was something about the older woman that made Sylvie eager for her approval. "Not run along, darling, you don't want to keep the Commander waiting." Sylvie said her goodbyes and walked quickly back to the small house she was currently calling home.

She was half way through changing into her armour (cotton leggings, druffolo hide jerkin, cropped jacket that tailed into a cape down to the backs or her knees made from the same leather) when there was a short knock and her door opened without a response from her.

"I heard a rumour that The Herald of Andraste is heading out into the wilderness with the Commander?" Dorian closed the door behind him of and plopped down into the creaky chair by the desk. Sylvie rolled her eyes as she wound a strip of silk around her waist and cinched it tight.

"I don't believe it's quite as torrid as you would like it to be." Sylvie tied the belt off in a neat knot just beside her hip. "We'll be following a near enough straight road for a couple of hours, meeting the first group of mages and then coming straight back." Sylvie sat down on the bed, "pass me my other boot, would you?" Dorian non to delicately gave it a swift kick and it slid across the floor. He leaned forward, jaw tense as he spoke.

"I take it it, then, that operation 'close the hole in the sky' will be in full effect shortly?" He asked and Syvlie voiced her confirmation, pulling on the first iron fronted boot. Dorian took a long breath and sat back. "I do rather wish it wasn't  _you_ who had to do it." Sylvie looked up sharply but Dorian had suddenly found the wall to his left extremely interesting.

"Then perhaps you should quickly start learning a way to close rifts without my mark." Sylvie pulled on her second boot and paused. "Actually, that's not a terrible idea." Dorian turned to look at her across the room, brows furrowed.

"Excuse me?" Was all he said in response.

"Think about it," Sylvie began, casually pulling the holster for her staff over her shoulder, "my life now constantly consists of running off into danger- at any point something could happen to me even  _before we_ get a chance to try to seal the Breach for good. Surely it would only be common sense to have a back up plan?"

"Firstly," Dorian replied, "that is dreadfully morbid. Secondly, would that even be possible? No one seems to know anything about your mark other than it has come in exceedingly handy. You're talking about someone having the power,  _intentionally_ might I add, to open and close the fade at will." Sylvie stood and straightened her clothes, leaning over to retrieve her staff where it was propped up against the wall.

"I can only seal the fade, not open it." She said as she slid the staff down her back to rest in its sheathe.

"Theoretically, you could- if a door has a handle it can both open and close." Dorian tapped his chin thoughtfully, "although after what happened when people entered the fade  _before_ my suggestion would be don't bother."

"But my back up plan idea does have merit. You're always claiming how clever you are, have a ponder over it for me." Sylvie told him. "I'll speak to Solas when I return, as well."

"If you insist." Dorian said, standing and making his way to the door with Sylvie. They stepped out into the crisp afternoon air. Even at this time of year, late summer, Haven  _still_ felt like Ostwick in winter. As chilled as Sylvie felt now, she knew that the temperature would rise rapidly as she and the Commander descended down the mountain path and into the forest. She and Dorian parted ways by the gate, Sylvie heading out and down the stairs. Up ahead, by the stables, Sylvie could see the Commander chatting with Harrit, a horse saddled and bridled beside him. Her horse, however, was no where to be seen. Neither was Master Dennett who had brought the horses here himself and had stayed to service the Inquisition, not trusting anyone else to care properly for the animals. Sylvie eventually spotted the horsemaster standing near the door of Harrits hut tending to an armoured mare. She greeted the Commander and blacksmith but kept walking, hearing the two men drop their conversation and follow close behind her.

"Ah, Herald." Dennett said, turning to face her, his eyes dancing with excitement. Sylvie looked from him to Harrit.

"Is this..." She trailed off and stepped to the horse. The horse whinnied and nudged her head into Sylvies outstretched hand. Sylvie felt her lips split into a huge grin as she turned to beam at the men behind her. "This is amazing!" Harrit and Dennett smiled back, both bowing their heads slightly to her.

"We've been working on the armour for a few weeks now," Harrit told her, "when Commander Cullen told us where you were headed, we felt it best you meet those mages looking as impressive as you could." Sylvie turned back to the horse, running her hand along the metal.

"She looks ready for battle." Sylvie said, patting her on the nose. "Don't you, Cheddar?" Sylvies voice slid into the almost babyish tone she had only ever heard people reserve for the animals they loved.

"Cheddar?" She heard the Commander ask behind her, followed by chuckles from both blacksmith and horsemaster.

"We'll let the Herald explain that one," Dennett told him, "have a safe journey."

"Thank you, both of you." Sylvie said earnestly before the two of them walked away. She turned back to Cheddar, still marvelling over how incredible her horse looked. The Commander came up beside her, running his own hand across the plating. Sylvie was fairly confident that he was assessing it with a much more martial mindset.

"So..." He eventually said, looking to Sylvie, "Cheddar?" He quirked a small smile at her. Sylvie laughed.

"Well as you know," she began, taking Cheddars reigns and walking her to where the Commanders horse was patiently waiting, "we brought her back before all the other horses." The Commander nodded, watching Sylvie pull herself up and into the saddle. "On the first night we camped with her there, Varric nodded off while on watch and Cheddar wandered off." The Commander mounted his own horse smoothly, no sign of strain in his face or body. Sylvie briefly contemplated how strong his arms were before continuing. "When we all woke up, Solas and I went looking for her while Cassandra ranted at Varric." The Commander snorted at that as they began leaving Haven. "She hadn't gone far, just behind some trees but we could see her eating something on the other side of a rock."

"I'm going to assume it was some cheese?" The Commander asked as the guards opened the gates and they crossed the bridge towards the woods.

"Not just  _some_ cheese- a whole wheel of the stuff!" Sylvie exclaimed, "A whole wheel of cheese just lying on a rocky outcrop in the middle of the woods. It wasn't even mouldy!" The Commander laughed.

"That's what surprised you most?" He asked. "Not that it was there in the first place? Or that a horse had a taste for it?" Sylvie shrugged and looked over at him, the leaves from the tree line they had entered casting shadows on his face.

"It was a really warm day."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks to everyone who has been reading and thanks for the kudos/subs. I am aware that it does feel like time is passing extremely slowly but I swear it will get moving soon! I've started a chapter plan so I know what happens when and even picking up the pace it is going to be a long one so I hope that everyone is happy to stay with me on Cullen and Sylvies very slow journey!


	6. Say it with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thanks as usual. And a quick warning of violence and a little bad language for this chapter.

Cullen breathed in deeply, the heady smell of foliage a pleasant departure from the cold mountain air in Haven. Almost an hour had passed since himself and the Herald had left Haven and the journey had been both quiet and uneventful. That is, until the Herald had shrieked in pain, doubling over on her horse and clutching her marked hand. He exhaled slowly as he swung himself off his own horse- focussing on regulating the thumping of his heart. If he hadn't been so used to being ahorse the shocked cry of pain and sudden crackle of magic would have been enough to topple him out of the saddle.

The Herald also dismounted, albeit gingerly, knees nearly giving way. Cullen dashed the few steps towards her and grabbed her upper arms to steady her. Even with the lack of Lyrium now in his blood, Cullen could feel the magic coursing under her skin- something hot and almost stinging on his senses that could only be the Heralds own magic. Along side it was a mana signature that was almost nauseating in its wrongness. The Herald gave her head a quick shake and nodded to indicate that she was okay before straightening up.

"Why would scouts not report a fade rift close to this road?" She asked, walking around her horse and squinting through the trees.

"Perhaps it wasn't here earlier?" Cullen stepped in the opposite direction, also looking for the tell tale green slice in the air.

"Maybe," The Herald replied, distractedly, joining Cullen on his side of the path, "or it  _was_ here and just lying dormant until my mark helpfully woke it up." She paused before darting forward, quietly hissing 'there!' as Cullen jogged up beside her. They both crouched low, peering over the top of a hedgerow before ducking back down. The Herald looked to him, Cullen noting that her staff was already in her hand.

"By the time we return to Haven, get some more people and get back, the mages may be too close and get caught out by the demons." She whispered. "I counted four- two wraiths, two horrors and rift that small  _shouldn't_ vomit out many more once we take those ones down." The Herald gave him what Cullen was beginning to think was a signature cheeky grin before continuing. "Unless you've spent too much time  _commanding_ and forgotten how to actually fight?"

"I am certain my capabilities are still up to standard." Cullen replied quietly. Although there was a tiny bit of doubt nudging its way from the back of his mind. Since stopping taking Lyrium he certainly  _felt_ less strong, more sluggish, more easily fatigued. He supposed they were both about to find out if they  _were_ physical changes or all psychological like Cassandra seemed to think. The Herald gave him a brief nod, peeking her head over the hedge and ducking back down again.

"Definitely only four," she whispered, "the wraiths are annoying because they shoot from a distance and float around a lot so I'll get rid of them quickly. Cassandra usually does some ...shouty thing to get an enemies attention," she tilted her head, "can you do that?" Cullen snorted softly.

"Yes, my Lady, I can taunt an enemy."

"Okay, you do that with the horrors. Once the wraiths are gone I'll help with them." The Herald told him as she crept along to a gap in the hedgerow.

"I didn't realise The Herald of Andraste was also a battle planner." Cullen whispered lightly as he shuffled around her to take point.

"I'm shocked that you of all people are making a joke right before a fight." She hissed as they both shifted their legs ready to spring.

"Ready?" Cullen asked softly, not taking his eyes off the demons.

"Ready." The Herald whispered back.

With a bellowing shout Cullen sprung forward, unsheathing his sword and swinging his shield from his back and straight into the face of the nearest demon. He felt the unfamiliar tingle of The Heralds magic as a shield spell settled over him. He continued forward towards the second horror, sensing the other one following him. Cullen held his shield defensively on his left arm, holding it out to block the demon coming up his side as he swung his sword at the one in front. It was unable to slither backwards quick enough, causing it to lose one clawed hand. And unholy shriek rent the air as it moved sinuously out of reach.

In his periphery, Cullen could see spell after spell shooting past him- long tendrils and short bursts of bright flame. The uninjured horror clawed at Cullen's face but he raised his sword in time, quickly pivoting to shove his sword into the demons abdomen. The horror dropped to the ground and Cullen realised that the injured one had drifted away. He turned to see it drifting towards The Herald. 

Cullen watched as she continued moving backwards in a circle while casting. Fire, he knew, was the most fickle of elements- difficult to control and direct but every little flame The Herald conjured met its mark. Slowly, Cullen became aware of a glowing pool of green around his feet. He dropped and rolled to the side as a burning green rock smashed into the ground where he had been standing. Ears still ringing from the explosion, Cullen began to duck and weave around more of the projectiles as the fade rift spit them out. He was trying to make his way to The Herald when she held up her hand and indicated for him to hold. She took three long strides backwards, holding her staff horizontal and passing it above the ground in a long, sweeping motion. Nothing happened. The Herald then simply stood watching as the maimed demon moved sluggishly towards her, its pace clearly slowed by the loss of dark, sickly blood from the stump of its arm. Cullen was about to rush forward, assuming The Herald had run out of mana, when the demon suddenly burst into flames. The ground where it was standing glowed white hot before it exploded through the air in a fifteen foot arc, looking for all the world like a morbid mockery of the fireworks he had once seen as a boy. Cullen waited for The Herald to raise her marked hand to the rift but instead she shook her head, readying her staff and nodding towards the rift.

Two small pools of green formed just beneath it, two lanky limbed demons springing from the grass. Terrors, Cullen recalled absently as he bellowed a challenge, drawing them to him. They threw their heads back, issuing a high pitched wail that made the very air around him turn thick. Cullen pulled himself forward slowly like trudging through treacle until he felt the enchantment snap, his movements feeling briefly overly rapid after being so slow.

He swung out his shield to bash the nearest terror but it grabbed the edge of it with spindly fingers. After a short tug of war the shield was torn from Cullen's grasp and tossed to the side.

“Down!” he heard The Herald yell from behind him. Reflexes quick, Cullen dropped to the ground just as the demon was struck in the chest with a fireball. Cullen swung out his leg to bring the terror to the ground, springing back up and slicing through its neck before it could rise.

Where was the other one! Cullen suddenly thought with a start. He looked around the small clearing but there was no sign of it. The Herald, he noticed, was treading back and forth delicately with her eyes fixed on the ground. In the time it took Cullen to blink, the terror materialised  _beneath_ The Herald, tossing her backwards and into the air as it leapt up. The Herald landed with a loud thud, bouncing slightly and rolling onto her front. Then the demon advanced.

Cullen yelled, for both the demon and The Herald, grabbing his fallen sword as he ran towards the terror. The demon turned just in time to receive Cullen's shield straight into its chest, bones crunching as Cullen aimed a swift kick to its midsection. The demon staggered backwards then shrieked, lunging towards Cullen who side stepped and pressed forwards with his shield held low. The demon dodged the first swipe of the sword but caught it on the hip on the back swing. Black blood and gore poured out from the wound but still the demon kept coming. Cullen ducked to avoid the demons grasping fingers and came back up, plunging his sword through its stomach. The demon finally fell, dissolving in a burst of light like the rest had, leaving only a pile of ash behind.

The Herald was pushing herself shakily to her feet and Cullen stooped to help her up, shield discarded in order to take her by the arm. She swayed but held fast and reached her hand towards the rift. A stream of green magic crackled between her and the rift. With a clenched jaw she yanked her hand down and the rift sealed shut. The clearing was dramatically silent as The Herald began to pitch forwards. Cullen dropped his sword to lie beside his shield before catching her, half dragging her towards a rocky outcrop and sitting her down carefully. Cullen knelt in front of her and she looked down at him with slightly unfocussed eyes.

“Those stupid things always get me with their fucking jumping trick.” The Herald said, voice a little thick and words slightly slurred. Silently, Cullen placed his hand gently on the back of her head, knowing from the stickiness between his fingers that they would come away bloody.

“Did you bring healing potions?” Cullen asked her. He quickly scanned for something to use to press against the wound, opting to untie the length of material from The Herald's waist. She was looking at him dazedly, as if trying to figure out what he had said. Cullen gestured for her to raise her arms and reached around her to unwrap the silk when she complied. He deftly folded it into a square, repeating his question as he placed the silk in her grasp and lifted her hand to the back of her head for her. She blinked a couple of times before finally responding.

“In my pack,” The Herald said slowly, “on Cheddar.” It took Cullen a few seconds to remember that Cheddar was the horse- he had thought for a horrible moment that she had done some serious damage to her brain.

“Hold that against your head and wait here.” Cullen didn't think the last part was necessary- The Herald did not look capable of going very far.

“Yes, Ser.” She replied, giving him a woozy smile. 

Cullen jogged quickly back down to the road, deciding to simply bring both horses up to the clearing with him. With The Herald injured he didn't want some opportunist running off with their mounts. After navigating both animals through the hedgerow, Cullen dropped the reigns, quickly grabbing The Heralds pack when he saw that she was now  _lying_ sprawled across the rock. He called to her but when she didn't respond Cullen rushed over.

“Herald?” He called again when he saw her eyes open. She was still holding her silken scarf to her head as she turned slowly to face him.

“Sylvie.” She said carefully. Cullen looked at her blankly, pack hanging momentarily forgotten from his hand. She sighed. “Frowning makes my head hurt worse.” She took a deep breath. “Can we just use my name, please?” 

Cullen let out a long exhale he hadn't realised he was holding. For one horrific moment The Herald had looked disturbingly like a corpse. It would just be typical that  _he_ would have been the one who got The Herald of Andraste killed while The Breach still lingered. Cullen shifted her legs and sat down beside her on the rock, rummaging in the extremely disorganised pack for a healing potion. After what seemed like an eternity of sifting through seemingly useless tat he found one.

“Can you sit up?” Cullen asked her and The Herald made a noise of protest.

“Everything is spinning quite ferociously,” she said eventually, “I'm happy right here.”

“Not an option.” Cullen told her, leaning over to slide a hand under her back. Without much assistance from her, Cullen managed to get The Herald half sitting- his splayed hand holding her up. He uncorked the vial with his teeth and pressed it to The Heralds lips. She opened them easily, swallowing down the whole potion when Cullen tipped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed with a soft sigh. She felt so warm against his palm and the heat from her legs where they were draped over his thighs was pulsing through his trousers.

“You can probably let me go now, Commander.” The Herald declared eventually. Cullens eyes snapped up from where he'd clearly been staring at her thighs on his. Her green eyes were clear again, focussed on Cullen's face.

“Ah ...right,” Cullen cleared his throat, “of course, Herald.”

“My mind may be fuzzy from the head wound but didn't I _just_ request to be called by name?” The Herald rearranged her hair with a small laugh.

“Frowning should no longer hurt after the healing potion.” Cullen replied, standing and walking with her to retrieve their fallen weapons.

“True,” The Herald began, inspecting her staff for damage, “but everyone else manages to refer to me by name. Now I no longer hate you on principle you should be able to do the same.” She gave him yet another cheeky smile. Something about it warmed Cullen down to his core. No wonder they were receiving an influx of recruits daily.

“Ambassador Montiliyet refers to you as Herald.” Cullen countered as they reached the horses. He sheathed his sword and hung his shield on the saddle. The Herald snorted as she put her foot in the stirrup.

“Josephine is more of a stickler for propriety than my Great Aunt Lucille.” She replied. Cullen stopped what he was doing to watch The Herald attempt to pull herself into the saddle. She made a strangled sound before dropping her foot back to the ground and resting her head on Cheddars armoured flank.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he rushed up behind her.

“I'm okay,” she told him, voice slightly muffled, “just a little light headed.”

“Let me help you.” Cullen said, placing his hands around her hips. With his help she managed to hoist herself into the saddle without further incident. Even through gloves Cullen felt like his palms were burning. If he seemed uncomfortable, The Herald didn't appear to notice. At a more appropriate moment he mentally planned to ask her where it was her _magic_ that affected her body temperature or if she always ran a little hotter than normal. “You're not going to fall off, are you?” Cullen asked her, half-joking and half-concerned as he pulled himself into his own saddle.

“The dizziness has begun to pass.” She replied as they steered their mounts down and back onto the road.

“You fought well, Herald.” Cullen told her. “Your control of fire is ...impressive.”

“Oh good!” She replied cheerfully, “I didn't singe you. I can control the element fine but sometimes, in close quarters, I still demonstrate room for improvement.” She looked at him with a grin. “There was _nearly_ a sticky situation involving Blackwalls beard very recently.”

“Maker! The travesty!” Cullen gasped in mock horror.

“Also,” she added, “it's Sylvie, remember? Say it with me- Sylvie.” She said her name slowly as if instructing a child. Cullen scowled but followed the expression with a light chuckle. While it would not do to be so informal _all_ of the time, surely it would not hurt when they were alone (or in friendly company)- perhaps even cementing this new found camaraderie. He nodded at her.

“Sylvie.”

 

 


	7. Don't Cry

Sylvie didn't want to let on that her head was still pounding. The Commander has seemed concerned enough about her well-being without her making him worry more. She wasn't bleeding any more, the wound on her scalp now itching as the potion continued working, and the world was no longer spinning or shining as it had been. What the Commander _also_ didn't need to know what that it was the _fifth_ fucking time she had received a similar wound because of a terror. Her reflexes had refused to improve and Sylvie realised she may have to resign herself to a future of constant head knocks.

She had been impressed by the Commanders fighting prowess. It had long been her opinion that, more often than not, once someone moved into a position of authority they spent too  _much_ time giving orders and became soft. There had been nothing soft about the Commander ...until he was treating her wound. Thanks to the smack the ground had given her, Sylvies memory of the minutes after were hazy. She remembered being on the rock, the firmness of Cullens thighs beneath her much fleshier ones and his palm splayed between her shoulder blades as he pressed a vial to her lips. She had drunk it down greedily, watching the Commanders face as he concentrated on not spilling the liquid down her chin. Up close, his eyes that she had always assumed were bog standard brown looked much more gold. That could have been a by-product of head wound shiny world, though. She would check again the next time she was close enough.

They rode side by side in comfortable silence. Well, Sylvie was comfortable anyway- she wasn't sure if  _any_ situation was truly comfortable for the Commander. It was pleasant just to be quiet if only for a few moments. If she kept her mind blank enough, Sylvie could almost pretend they were just two companions out for an afternoon ride. Voices up ahead snapped her back to reality and she quickly pulled her horse to a stop, the Commander doing the same.

“Did you hear that, Commander?” She turned to him and asked.

“ I did,  _Herald_ .” He replied and Sylvie had to chuckle.

“ My apologies,  _Cullen_ .” Was her retort as they both peered down the road. After a few seconds, a large group, clearly of mages, crested over a hill. Sylvie gave the Commander a brief nod and they rode forward to meet the Inquisitions newest, and perhaps most controversial, members. Sylvie watched Grand Enchanter Fiona hold up a hand to halt her party as Sylvie and Cullen both dismounted.

“ Grand Enchanter.” Sylvie said with a low bow. She was mildly aware of Cullen watching her curiously. Herald of Andraste or not, Sylvie was mage and this slight, elven woman before her was still, in Sylvie's mind, her leader.

“ Herald.” The Grand Enchanter replied with a nod of her head. “It is a welcome surprise for you to have met us.”

“ I'm glad.” Sylvie said with a smile. “May I introduce Commander Cullen Rutherford- head of the Inquisitions forces.” Sylvie couldn't help but notice the glances that passed between some of the Senior Enchanters in the party. Of  _course_ they knew of him- after the events in Kirkwall the majority of Thedas probably knew his name. Especially if they had read 'The Champion of Kirkwall'.

“ A pleasure, Commander.” Fiona replied politely, albeit a tiny bit frostily. Sylvie was suddenly concerned that her plan  _hadn't_ been a good one after all. “I had heard rumour that you had left the Order to pledge yourself to the Inquisitions cause.”

“ I did, my Lady.” Cullen said, not offering any further explanation. In Sylvie's mind, he probably should have given his 'bound to the order no longer' speech to ease any tensions but she supposed it was up to him how much he wanted to reveal to a group of strangers.

“ Let me introduce the Senior Enchanters accompanying us- the ones I feel best qualified to assist you in closing the Breach.”

They all bowed their heads in turn as the Grand Enchanter listed off names and previous Circles. Sylvie kept the smile fixed on her face even as her stomach dropped and chest constricted. Four from Lake Calenhad, two from Ansburg, two from Jainen and one each from Markham and Starkhaven. She knew, not recognising any faces, that there was no one from Ostwick but hearing it out loud was a hundred times worse. Sylvie was about to ask if there were mages from home in the bulk of the procession when there was a commotion at the back of the group followed by much jostling and three young cries of “Sylvie!”.

Sylvie took a step back just in time for three tiny apprentices, none older than ten, to come unceremoniously bursting through the line of Senior Enchanters. The three children, clad in worn, green apprentice robes she herself had donned so long ago, stopped dead in front of her. Eyes more tired and haunted than a child's eyes should ever look stared up at her. Sylvie was fairly certain that her heart had stopped beating, blood rushing to her head and roaring through her ears. All propriety and decorum forgotten, she dropped to her knees, three skinny bodies flinging themselves at her before she had even had a chance to fully extend her arms to embrace them. The children clung to her painfully, the youngest of three, Aria, near exploding into painful sobs. Aria continued to hold her vice like grip around Sylvie's neck as the other two, Patrick and Anthony, took a step back. They looked so very tired, and so much thinner than the day they had come to see her off to the Conclave.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. The mantra repeated itself over and over again in Sylvie's head as she gently disengaged Aria from her. She cupped Anthony's cheek in one hand, thumb brushing a long gash that was beginning to scar over. A thousand questions raced through her mind, none of which seemed right to ask children who had been through so much already. Sylvie couldn't be the one that made them relive what had happened.

"Are you three okay?" Was all Sylvie could think to ask. A ridiculous question- of course they weren't, but everyone was staring so she had to make some words come out of her face. The three children nodded in unison, Aria still sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"We heard them saying it was you who fell out of the sky," Patrick began as Sylvie pulled herself to her feet, "but we didn't believe them ...but it's true! And then they told us we'd get to come and stay where you are and that we'd be safe there. It  _is_ safe?" His eyes were wide, little hands still untrained in wielding the magic they had been gifted with wringing at the material of his robes.

"It is." Sylvie replied, nodding, "so we should get moving so we don't miss supper." She looked around and noticed that the rest of the children had also pushed passed the Senior Enchanters. They all wore robes coloured in their Circles shades but all wore matching tired expressions.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

The group quickly organised themselves to move onwards. Sylvie looked over to Cullen just in time to see him lifting two of the youngest, and most sickly looking, children on to each of their horses and passing the reigns off to two of the Senior Enchanters. When Cullen turned to catch Sylvies eye she gave him a nod and a small smile. Aria, Patrick and Anthony steadfastly refused to leave Sylvies side as they began to walk. Aria held onto Sylvies hand but the boys wandered back and forth in front of her, never straying further than to question Cullen endlessly about his armour and his sword. Aria also, eventually, calmed down, asking questions about Haven, about what Sylvie had been doing, if she has made any new friends. Sylvie told her as much as she felt appropriate, choosing to focus mostly on the companions she had acquired on her travels- a conversation that even kept the boys attention.

"Can we meet all your other friends?" Anthony asked and Sylvie told him that her friends would be delighted. A few other children had since appeared next to them, including two slightly older girls that Sylvie judged to just be blossoming into their teens. One of them dropped her voice to what Sylvie assumed was meant to be a whisper but was, in fact, rather loud.

"Are the other soldiers as handsome as the Commander?" She asked, eyes darting back and forth to Cullen as her friend giggled. A few of the boys made disgusted noises. Sylvie laughed, casting a sideways glance at Cullen. He  _looked_ like he wasn't listening but Sylvie could see his ears turning pink.

"Oh no!" Sylvie replied, being purposefully loud, "no one in Haven is as handsome as Commander Cullen." From the blush that spread rapidly across Cullens cheeks as he cleared his throat and sped away, Sylvie was sure that he had heard. The two girls giggled again and began whispered to one another.

After some time, when they were only a few minutes from Haven, the Grand Enchanter halted their small procession to reorganise everyone into some sort of order. At Sylvies insistence those youngest that were on the horses got to stay there, the mounts now at the back of the column. Their group was headed by Sylvie in between the Commander and Grand Enchanter. They passed through the gates and over the bridge, rounding the corner to see Josephine standing with a welcoming smile on her face. She gave a small curtsy when they reached her.

"Grand Enchanter, it is a pleasure to have you here." Josephine began politely, "I am Josephine Montiliyet, Ambassador for the Inquisition and on behalf of all of us I bid you welcome." The Grand Enchanter inclined her head and responded with her own pleasantries while Sylvie tried to determine what was off about Josephine. Everything looked the same- same clothes, same hair, same manners ...no ledger! In all the months that Sylvie had known her, Josephine has  _always_ had that ledger in hand. Turns out it  _wasn't_ actually attached to her like Sylvie had quietly speculated. Sylvie blinked and realised everyone was now looking to her.

“ Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “my mind must have wandered.” Josephine gave her a look that could have curdled milk. For the second time in one day Commander Cullen leapt to her defence.

“ There was a fade rift just off the road,” he began, voice low so only Josephine, Fiona and Sylvie herself could hear him, “The Herald thought it prudent to deal with it before the Grand Enchanter and her people came upon it. She took a small knock to the head so I'm sure we can forgive her a little lapse in attention.”

Josephines face instantly softened into a look of concern. Sylvie had been rescued, just like that, from an inevitable lecture about her behaviour and how she appeared to others. She could have kissed Cullen in that moment. He was probably a good kisser, too. Firm,  _commanding_ . Maybe she  _did_ need to get her head wound assessed by a healer.

“ You should have said something, Herald.” The Grand Enchanter told her, “Senior Enchanter Henrick is an excellent healer.” Sylvie waved a dismissive hand.

“ I'm fine, if a little ...dazed and distracted.” She told them. “But I will be sure to get myself to a healer as soon as possible. Shall we get you all settled into camp?”

Without further conversation the party made their way through the groups of drilling soldiers (with more than a few hostile looks in the mages direction) and rounded the corner towards the campsite. As the lines of tents appeared, the organisation of the party collapsed when the children all darted forward to claim their chosen tents. One of the Senior Enchanters sighed loudly and jogged after them, the rest of the group making a much more civilised approach to the camp. Josephine went to assist the mages in getting settled in, leaving Sylvie the Grand Enchanter and Cullen.

“ Now the children are out of earshot,” Sylvie began, turning to Fiona, “are there...” She hesitated and swallowed, Cullen looking at her curiously. She needed to ask the question but dreaded hearing the answer she  _knew_ was coming. “Are there others from Ostwick? In the main group?” She had tried to keep her voice steady but from the sympathetic look in Fionas eyes, Sylvie had clearly failed miserably.

“ There are a few mages, yes,” Fiona told her, “and some apprentices in their late teenage years- close to Harrowing age. The children with me are the ones younger than thirteen...” she hesitated, “...all the ones currently accounted for. From any Circle.”

Sylvie was dimly aware of Cullens hushed curse of “Maker's breath” as the ground felt like it had flipped her upside down. She sucked in a deep breath, like coming up from a lake for air, before she had even realised she had stopped breathing. Sylvie bit her teeth down and held her jaw tight. They were gone. Gone. Gone. All fucking gone and for what? In the name of freedom? Well look where that had gotten mages.

“ Thank you, Grand Enchanter.” Sylvie said, her voice flat, “I will have more questions but for now you must be exhausted and I should see about that healer.” The Grand Enchanter gave Sylvie a sad, knowing look and nodded.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Not yet.

Sylvie inclined her head to Cullen before turning as quickly as she could and walking down the path. On the bend in the road, out of view of both Haven and mage campsite, Sylvie changed direction and darted up through the trees. She dragged her feet through the snow until she reached the wall surrounding the village. With a strangled cry and choking gasp that she hoped no one could hear from her hiding place, Sylvie slammed her back against the wall. She slid down the stone to drop into the snow, eyes closed tight to the world as she let her face fall into her hands.

She let herself cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for the reads/kudos/subs, they make me warm and fuzzy! This chapter (and the next) have been generated mostly because I had a slight concern that Sylvie could end up becoming a little two dimensional as this silly, joking mage who is good at setting stuff on fire. She needed some feels! And I hope you will all feel her feels with her! While I am aware that the casualties of the rebellion that are described may seem brutal, one thing I felt in DAI when I played was, if you didn't pay much attention to certain Hinterlands quests, you didn't really feel the human impact of the fact that there was basically a war going on ...rant/explanation done.


	8. Maker, Have Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and the subsequent ones) have taken a different turn than originally intended. However, I am pleased with the results and I hope you all enjoy it too!

Cullen knew all too well the look on Sylvies face as she had curtly said her goodbyes and all but run from him and the Grand Enchanter. After everything he had seen and experienced in his life, Cullen was more than familiar with how someone looked when they were trying desperately to hold it all together. His first instinct had been to run straight after her but he held the urge in, wanting to allow her some breathing room should she need it. Beside him, Grand Enchanter Fiona let out a weary sigh.

“Such a burden to be placed on one so young and so ...inexperienced.” She said, never taking her eyes off the place where Sylvie had just stood. Cullen bristled slightly on Sylvies behalf, although he couldn't quite pinpoint why.

“The Herald has proved herself more than capable in these last months and I found myself surprisingly impressed by her as we fought those demons earlier today.” Cullen told her. The Grand Enchanter turned to regard him curiously.

“It is good, if a little surprising, to hear you defend her so.” The Grand Enchanter replied. “However, only a few months ago The Inquisition had that young woman in chains, ready to execute her based on sheer happenstance.” Cullen opened his mouth to protest but he closed it again when he realised he had no justifiable response. It was true. Cassandra had been ready to run Sylvie through with her sword then and there. Leliana had been content to dispose of her once they'd gotten what the needed. And he ...he had been willing to believe her guilt solely based on her being a mage, _in spite_ of how much his prejudices had altered over the years.

“Time has changed things.” Was all Cullen could think to say in response. The Grand Enchanter gave him a sad smile.

“How true that is. Now, forgive me, Commander but I should see to my people. No doubt the children have begun to run riot.” She inclined her head and departed.

Cullen took his leave of the mage camp and made his way back towards Haven. As he rounded the corner he spotted footprints in the snow- leading up through the trees- and he stopped. That they were Sylvies he had little doubt. What he _did_ doubt was that his presence or comfort would be of any welcome. Cullen felt compelled to check on her so, steeling his resolve, he left the path and followed her steps through the trees. After a few moments, he spotted a figure slumped in the snow and he hesitated again. Who was he to intrude upon her grief? She hadn't seemed to notice his approach so Cullen was about to make a quiet escape when Sylvie lifted her head from her hands and spotted him. She quickly wiped her eyes and stood up.

“I didn't hear you there, Commander.” Sylvie said, her voice flat. She turned around to face the wall and Cullen heard her sniff.

“I can leave you alone, if you prefer?” He told her, though even as he said it his feet seemed to step forward of their own volition.

“No!” Sylvie said a bit too quickly and Cullen frowned. She sighed and hung her head. “After growing up with two brothers before spending my life in a Circle tower I never got very good at being by myself.” She turned to face him, giving him a weak smile, “I would always run off to get some time alone and then immediately regret it.”

Cullen noted how red her eyes were, the dark make-up she had taken to wearing since she met Dorian streaking her pale cheeks. In the time he had known her, he had seen her be nothing but matter-of-fact and practical and, in the last few days, playful and sarcastic. To see her looking so heartbroken, so defeated, clawed at Cullen's insides in a way he didn't care to dwell on.

“Are you ...alright?” Looking at her standing there with puffy eyes and sniffing it seemed a ridiculous question. He didn't know what else to say. 'Sorry The Grand Enchanter confirmed that almost your whole Circle is dead' somehow didn't have the correct ring to it. He had expected an automatic “I'm fine” but instead Sylvie shook her head and, after some fighting on her part, burst into tears again. Cullen had never been particularly good at comforting someone when they were in tears- “typical man reaction” his sister had always called it. He closed the remaining distance between himself and Sylvie, hesitantly placing a hand awkwardly on her shoulder.

“The Ostwick Circle was one of the last to fall,” she began, eyes fixed on an unseen spot in the distance, “I wasn't even there. From what we heard when we reached the Conclave, the fighting had started only a few days after our delegation left port for Fereldan.” Sylvie rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “I always wondered if things could have gone differently for everyone if I had still been there with them. We were told that some of the Templars had fought alongside the loyalist mages to wrest back control of the tower. But, when the door came down and mages began to run, the Templars took down anyone they could- even those who they had been fighting beside.” Sylvie took a deep breath and met Cullens gaze. “I would have been one of them.” Cullen frowned in confusion.

“You were a loyalist?” He asked her slowly, finally taking his hand off her shoulder. It was not something he would have expected of her. Sylvie gave him self-deprecating smile.

“Is that so hard to believe?” She tilted her head. “Oh, the Circles needed reform, no doubt, but fundamentally they were a _good_ thing.” Sylvie paused and looked away, her voice growing soft. “Those children you met? Their powers manifested as flames. They needed to be taught to control it quickly. The old Senior Enchanter, my mentor, had recently passed away and so it fell to me to do what I could while a suitable, more experienced, replacement arrived from another Circle. There were eleven apprentices in that class- all of them new to the Circle.”

Cullen sucked in a sharp breath before he could stop himself. Eight children that Sylvie herself had taught ...all gone. He watched as Sylvie began pacing back and forth angrily.

“The rebels bought us our freedom but everyone, including Templars, paid the blood price.” With growing trepidation, Cullen watched flames begin to dance on Sylvies fingertips, her voice growing louder. “If the cost of being free is the lives of _children_ then the cost is too high!” She stopped pacing in front of Cullen, her green eyes fierce as rage and heat poured off of her and shouted, “I would lock myself _alone_ in a tower for the rest of my _life_ if it would bring them back!” She was breathing heavily, flames still burning in her hands. In the blink of an eye Cullen saw her whole body slump, fire snuffed out as she sobbed in defeat.

Without thinking, Cullen reached out to comfort her. Before he could react, Sylvie had launched herself into his arms, burying her sobs his fur mantle. He stood, briefly frozen, before eventually putting his arms around her shoulders. The gesture, that he had hoped would soothe her, made her sob harder, her hands bunching in the front of his cloak. Utterly bewildered, Cullen absently stroked, well ...more patted, her shoulder and thought desperately from something to say. Cullen didn't think there was anything that _anyone_ could say at this moment to ease Sylvies pain. So, Cullen simply held her. That much even he could manage to provide.

After some time, Sylvies sobs petered out into occasional sniffs and intermittent hiccups. She stayed firmly ensconced in his arms, however, and Cullen found himself entirely okay with the arrangement, much to his own surprise. It had been such a long time, years probably, since he had such close physical contact with another person. It had never occurred to him that perhaps he missed it until he was standing here in the snow holding a heartbroken mage. Time really _had_ changed things.

At some point during the increasingly long embrace, Cullens cheek had somehow found a resting place on top of Sylvies head. With every inhale he could smell the forest, underlined with something citrusy he couldn't quite identify. Her shampoo, he assumed. Sylvies hiccups, he noticed, had stopped at some point.

“Despite all this armour,” Sylvie eventually said, “you are remarkably comfortable.” Cullen laughed gently before his voice dropped.

“I hope this wasn't ...inappropriate.” He said hesitantly. Sylvie extracted herself from his arms and gave him a small smile. Cullen suddenly felt dramatically colder, his every instinct telling him to grab her right back again.

“No, it was ...what I needed.” She gave a long sniff and shook herself off. “How do I look?” To Cullen, she looked exactly like someone who had spent a great deal of time crying.

“You look ...fine.” He replied with a smile, recalling their earlier conversation in the Chantry. Sylvie laughed and made an attempt to wipe her face. She pulled out the square of silk that Cullen had used on her head wound and crouched to dampen the blood-free side with snow.

“If only you could lie as well as you fight.” She told him as she stood up and began to dab at her eyes and cheeks, almost completely missing every black streak that stained her skin. Cullen stepped towards her.

“Let me.” He said, gently taking the make-shift handkerchief from Sylvies hand. She stood perfectly still for his administrations, eyes closed as he did his best to clean her up.

“Such a gallant knight,” Sylvie said, eyes still closed, “to help a Lady in distress twice in one day.” Cullen snorted and Sylvie opened her eyes. The amusement on her face melted away slowly when their eyes met. Cullens hand slowed in its actions until he was simply holding the silk to Sylvies cheek. She began to frown, just slightly, and Cullen took a step back, holding out the square of material to her and looking down at the ground.

“There,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out lower than he had intended, “much better.” Sylvie took the silk from him and slipped it back into her pocket.

“Thank you.” She replied, a puzzled look still on her face when Cullen finally looked up.

“Shall I walk you back to Haven?” Cullen asked her. Sylvie thought about it for a second before shaking her head, lips curved into a sad smile.

“I think, perhaps, I _could_ now use a few minutes alone. Just give me a minute or so of a head start.” She said. “Although, if you could arrange a meeting in the war room for around an hours time I would be grateful. I was hoping to travel to the Storm Coast while the rest of the mages arrive and the Senior Enchanters plan a way of channelling me full of magic without blowing me up.” Cullen inclined his head to her.

“Of course,” he told her, “I shall see you in an hour.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” Sylvie said as she turned to leave. “For everything today.”

Cullen wanted to tell her that she never had to thank him, that she was more than welcome, but she trudged off to the treeline before he could respond. As he watched her go, Cullen felt a headache he hadn't noticed brewing begin to pulse in his temples. Sylvie looked over her shoulder when she reached the trees, giving him a small wave goodbye. She disappeared amongst the branches and Cullen closed his eyes, hands bunched into tight fists by his sides as he took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes back up, gaze fixated on Sylvies receding footprints.

“Maker, have mercy.”

 


	9. A Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days! I hope no one minds but I got on a creative roll. This one and the next were originally meant to be one chapter. While I was writing it (by hand as usual) I felt like it was taking forever and I then looked at how long I had rambled on for. Chapter 10 is also ready to go and it's one I'm really excited about/pleased with but will control myself and keep it until at least tomorrow!

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time- go to the Storm Coast and recruit a mercenary group, give the the rest of the mages time to reach Haven and figure out how to seal the huge hole in the sky. What Sylvie hadn't factored in was how the Storm Coast had come about it's name. Or that their troops would be targeted and killed by hostile locals long before her party got there. Or the giant fucking bears that appeared without warning from behind trees and over hilltops. Or just how terrible a recipe one Tevinter mage and one Qunari spy would be.

“Will the two of you  _shut up_ !” Sylvie yelled over her shoulder for probably the millionth time. She had liked The Iron Bull almost instantly. Oh sure, he was actually a Ben-Hassrath reporting back home but he had been up front and honest, he fought like a giant, well-honed machine and had stepped up, with no hesitation, to volunteer to challenge the leader of the Blades of Hessarian in Sylvies place. She had declined his offer but his immediate loyalty had impressed her. She had asked him one night on the road back to Haven if it were all an act to get into her good graces. He had laughed with a deep, throaty chuckle.

“You won my loyalty when you came running down a hill and set three 'Vints on fire.” He had looked across the fire pit at her. “You've got heart, and some nice stuff in front of that heart.” He'd winked then, an odd looking gesture considering the eyepatch. “I like that. You may not lead the Inquisition but I've seen you fight, seen you command under pressure- I'd gladly bet my good eye that the next Inquisitor is name 'Trevelyan'.”

Bull, however, was not crux of the problem. Dorian had been raised to hate Qunari and while Sylvie would not and  _could not_ defend any persons pointless racism, she understood what it was like to have prejudices so engrained into your beliefs. She probably could have forgiven Dorians every unpleasant thought if he had at least kept them to himself. Apparently, something the Pavus family  _hadn't_ taught while making their son hate Qunari was the ability to keep his mouth shut.

Bull had met every remark and every scathing question with as equally an offensive reply. Unlike Dorian, however, Bull was clearly  _enjoying_ the verbal back and forth. Sylvie had a sneaking suspicion that Bull was only responding in order to rile Dorian up. Having grown tired of Dorian and  _Blackwalls_ constant sniping, Sylvie had  _thought_ she would get some quiet by sending the Warden ahead to Haven with the Chargers. Showed how much she knew.

After two miserable weeks of travelling and listening to them bicker, the act had worn thin. A journey made even longer by the fact that there probably wasn't a horse in all of Fereldan big enough for The Iron Bull. Sylvie had spent the whole time on the Storm Coast soaked and freezing- a cold that now seemed stuck in her very bones. Her nose had been alternating between running profusely and completely blocked for three days now as her body went from freezing to burning at the drop of a hat. It would seem another pleasant side effect of being stuck in a tower for fifteen years was a sub-par immune system.

Normally, under such circumstances, Sylvie would have called for them to stop as the sun went down (especially considering the rattling coughing fits that racked Seras whole body every ten minutes) but they had seemed  _so_ close to Haven that Sylvie could almost feel the heat of her fireplace and dry blankets around her. She was regretting  _that_ particular decision as well. It had already been dark a few hours and, with only the light of the moon guiding them, Sylvie was finding it difficult to judge exactly where they were.

A few minutes of blessed silence passed, giving Sylvie time to gather her strength to cast some illumination for their journey. Casting while already weak from, what Sylvie assumed was, some horrible plague left her feeling even more drained but the tiny, heatless flames that now danced along the path seemed worth it.

Miraculously, another half an hour of silence (other than coughs and sniffs) went by before Sylvie spotted the flickering of torches through the trees. She urged her horse forward into a trot and the gates came into sight. Close behind her, Sylvie heard Sera try to whoop with delight but instead the elf dissolved into another coughing fit. The two guards looked momentarily startled at their approach before stepping forward and standing to attention. Sylvie dispelled her lights as she dismounted.

“Lady Herald.” One of the guards said, placing his fist to his chest. “We were not expecting you until tomorrow.” Sylvie sneezed as she returned the salute. Behind her, Sera had managed to cough her way off her horse, face pale and sweaty. Bull said something that caused Dorian to scowl, passing his horses reigns to one of the guards and stomping off into Haven muttering something in Tevene. Sylvie forced a smile.

“As you can see, we were eager to get back.” Sylvie passed off Cheddars reigns to one of Lelianas scouts who had appeared, seemingly out of thin air. Sera bid her own goodbye, muttering something about soggy knickers as she left.

“Shall we send word to your advisors of your return, my Lady?” The scout asked. Sylvie gave a short laugh, followed by another sneeze.

“Well, Leliana  _clearly_ knows we're back,” Sylvie replied, “So you had best let Josephine and the Commander know.” She paused for a second. “But  _only_ if they're still awake! Let Leliana know I will bring them up to speed tomorrow morning in the war room.” Sylvie sneezed  _again_ . “Make that the afternoon.” The scout nodded and took off with a guard and the three horses, leaving Sylvie to walk into Haven with The Iron Bull. Sylvie had never, by human standards anyway, been considered small- she could look the Commander in the eye with only a slight tilt of the head. She was also larger of frame- wide hips, wide shoulders, ample chest- not the 'traditional' delicate noble build. 'Sturdy' was how her paternal Grandmother had described the women from Sylvies mothers family. However, beside Bull, Sylvie felt nine years old again, walking through the gardens of her home with her father as he explained just why there were Templars coming to the house to take her away.

They were walking in a comfortable silence when a call of “Hey, Boss!” startled Sylvie to attention. Krem, the Chargers Lieutenant that Bull had initially sent to Haven, appeared in front of them.

“Krem!” Bull roughly slapped a huge hand on the other mans shoulder. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Boss.” Krem replied, turning to Sylvie. “Nice to see you again, as well, Herald. Me and the Chargers set up camp over there.” He gestured off to the side with his thumb. “Thought it best to keep us out of the way.” Bull gave a hearty laugh.

“You'll learn soon enough that my boys are a loud bunch.” Bull told her with more than a hint of pride.

“Join us for a drink, my Lady?” Krem asked Sylvie. Before she could politely decline, Sylvie sneezed which made Bull laugh again.

“We'll take that as a no.” He said and Sylvie smiled gratefully. “Go get nice and warmed up- there'll be plenty time for us to get you drunk.”

Sylvie bid them goodbye and slowly made her way to her small hut. When she reached it, she hesitated, seeing candlelight coming from the windows. Cautiously, she pushed open the door and poked her head inside. The fire was burning invitingly, candles lighting the room and allowing her to quite clearly see the large metal bath that had been dragged inside. There was steam swirling up from the water and Sylvie felt so absurdly thankful that she wanted to weep. On her desk were two vials- one light purple and one a deep, midnight blue- sitting on top of a piece of parchment.

_Herald,_

_Lelianas scout reported of your return, and of your apparent illness. Based on your previous correspondence, I took the liberty of having the bath brought to your room for your return. I do hope it was already filled and warm once you reached it. The purple vial is a bath liquid I have often found most soothing. The blue one should help with your current affliction. The Storm Coast must have truly been as dreadful as your letters suggested._

_Sleep well,_

_Josephine_

In her drained and sneezing state, Sylvie felt very much like bursting into tears. While she was not, by any means, a religious woman, she still felt the compulsion to send a silent thanks to The Maker himself for the wonderful gift of Josephine Montiliyet.

Sylvie quickly stripped out of her (still soggy!) armour and hung it haphazardly over the back of a chair. She downed one vial before pouring the other into the water. Gingerly, Sylvie hauled her aching body into the bath and sunk down, feet propped up on the other end of the tub. She sighed, breathing in the gentle lavender scent, the fact that she could smell it at all a testament to whatever miracle potion Josephine had left her. Sylvie closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She hadn't quite appreciated until now how much this little hut in this little village had begun to feel like home. At first it had been like living in a strangers house- nothing in it belonged to her. The belongings she had packed when leaving Ostwick had all been lost in the explosion at the temple and anything still in Ostwick was beyond anyones reach after the fall of the tower.

Over time the hut had begun to fill with things Sylvie had collected herself. There were knick-knacks and trinkets scattered across the mantelpiece, she once again had a trunk full of clothes of her own and two thick blankets on the bed that had been a humble gift from a refugee in Redcliffe. “I've heard it gets cold up in those mountains.” The man had told her and Sylvie had accepted the gift with more thanks than if if had been a solid gold statue. She had even begun to miss the people when she was gone. People that had once thought her responsible for the most atrocious of crimes who had since become friends, or at least something close to it. More than once on the trip to the Storm Coast, Sylvie had found her thoughts drifting to Cullen. In the space of a few days their tentative truce had rapidly become something else. She supposed that, much like how circumstance had sped up her friendship with Dorian, her injury at the fade rift followed by her later meltdown had sped her and Cullen along too.

She had found herself thinking, a few times, about what had happened after they had reached Haven with the mages. The time away (not to mention the fighting) had given her the space she had clearly needed to process the information that had so devastated her. There had, of course, been further tears- especially when she relayed everything to Dorian- but the burning pain she had felt a couple of weeks ago was now but a dull ache in her heart.

One thing that was still niggling at Sylvie was the feeling of Cullen's arms around her as she had sobbed on his shoulder. A gesture that had, at first, seemed stiff and awkward had quickly softened to feel like the most natural thing in the world.

As her sobs had faded, Sylvie had become much more aware of his heavy arms on her shoulders and the stubbled cheek that had found a resting place atop her head. For the first time in months, she felt suddenly safe, as if nothing could possibly go wrong as long as she stayed right there in that embrace. It was a feeling that had terrified her no end. And so, she had made a joke and forced herself away. The time when there was a hole in the sky that it _might_ just kill her to close was _not_ the time to be developing any sort of fuzzy feelings. A knock at her door broke Sylvies line of thought and, assuming it was Dorian for a late night visit, she shouted “Come in!” and the door opened.

“Sorry if I disturbed you, my Lady. I heard …Makers breath!”

Oh dear, not Dorian at all. She should have assumed that when the door didn't immediately burst open without invitation. Sylvie opened her eyes and looked round to see Cullen standing with his back to her, the door still wide open after he must have let it go in shock.

“Oh, hello, Cullen.” Sylvie replied. “Could you shut the door? The cold is getting in.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also sort of figured out how to work Tumblr. Come say hello ...or whatever it is Tumblr people do! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kittydrakeheart


	10. I Noticed You Were Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, the usual thanks go out for the kudos/subs/bookmarks! The response so far to this fic is already more than I could have hoped for. The second, giant thanks goes to Gabtinha who waved a hand the air and offered to be my beta/sounding board. Her excitement has made _me_ even more excited.

Cullen had been reviewing reports at the makeshift desk in his tent beside the Chantry when the scout had popped his head in to announce that the Herald had returned and would give her report from the Storm Coast in the war room tomorrow afternoon. Cullen had thanked the scout and sent him on his way, turning back to the parchment in front of him. His eyes, however, would no longer focus on any of the words. He had missed her departure to the Storm Coast and did not have a chance to speak to her after she had given him the small wave over her shoulder and disappeared into the trees. That day had weighed heavily on his mind since Sylvie had been gone. Had he crossed a line? Was it inappropriate for the Commander of the Inquisition to embrace The Herald of Andraste? Was his reaction more about having been alone ( _physically_ speaking) for so long or because he was actually attracted to _Sylvie?_ And, most importantly, how had she been since the devastating news she had received?

Sylvie had been gone from Haven many times in the last few months but, given their new found ...friendship, this was the first time that he had actually _noticed_ that she was not here. Now he was aware that she was back, a mere minutes walk away from where he was currently seated, Cullens feet positively _itched_ to go to her. He rubbed at his forehead before running the hand through his hair. He felt _ridiculous_. There was a hole in the sky, someone had murdered the Divine along with hundreds of others and the Mage/Templar fighting was _still_ going on yet here he was. A worn out, former Knight-Commander of the Templar Order daydreaming about how a young, full of life mage felt in his arms. He had recently found out _just_ how much younger Sylvie was by finally reading the report Leliana had compiled on her. It made this ...whatever it was that had stirred inside him after _one_ embrace seem all the more absurd. She was The Herald of Andraste. She was a _mage._ She was silly and funny and smart and pretty and ... _he_ appeared to already be outside of his tent.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. He didn't stop walking, though. He was a concerned advisor and Sylvies well-being was vital to the Inquisition. Justification. It was _weak_ justification but it made it that little bit easier to lift his hand and knock on her door when he reached it. There was a muffled shout of “Come in” and Cullen pushed open the door.

“Sorry if I disturbed you, my Lady. I heard...” Cullens eyes finally found her, lying in a bath of steaming water, head back and eyes closed. “ _Maker's breath_!” He turned around more quickly than he had moved in a long time, feeling his face turn what was, most likely, a beaming shade of scarlet.

“Oh, hello, Cullen.” Sylvie said, sounding remarkably serene about the whole situation. “Could you shut the door? The cold is getting in.” Cullen leaned over to his side, steadfastly keeping his body facing the wall and pushed the door closed. He swallowed heavily, if anything he expected to find her in nightwear, possibly reading a book as she always seemed so apt to do. He was _not_ expecting to find her naked ...and wet.

“Forgive me, I thought I heard you say come in.” Cullen told her. “I ...I should leave you to your ...bath.” He rolled his eyes at himself as he heard Sylvie chuckle, followed by the sound of splashing as she rose from the bath water. Cullen felt his whole body tense in the knowledge that behind him, she would be standing completely naked, water dripping down her skin. He was almost ashamed to feel every fibre of his being wanting to turn around.

“Give me a second.” Sylvie said, the sound of her wet feet hitting the stone floor resounding in the room. “I hadn't realised that the man who sliced of a terror's head would be so squeamish about a little naked flesh.” Cullen snorted in spite of how horrendously awkward he felt.

“Well _I_ hadn't realised that The Herald of Andraste would be so flippant about said naked flesh.” He replied, beginning to feel marginally less stressed given that she didn't seem to have a care in the world that he had walked in on her bathing.

“You can turn around now.” Sylvie told him. He turned in time to see her tying off the belt of a large robe before she plopped down onto her bed. Something twisted at his stomach as he saw her for the first time in weeks. A feeling that, with growing dread, Cullen realised probably answered his earlier question as to whether or not it was Sylvie herself he was attracted to. She was looking at him strangely but continued talking, words coming out quicker than usual.

“Something I learned when I was young and living in the Circle dormitory was that, when it came to modesty, there were three options- you could wake up first in order to claim one of the bathrooms. You could wake up later and wait, then always feel like you were in a rush. Or there was option three. You made yourself remember that everyone is the same and there's nothing going on under your clothes that people haven't seen before.” Sylvie gave him a grin. “Well ...at least there _shouldn't_ be.” Cullen watched as she reached down and begun rummaging around blindly under the bed. She smiled triumphantly and pulled out a bottle of wine.

“I can assume you were a believer in option three?” Cullen asked as she uncorked the bottle.

“Clearly.” She responded. “The first night we ever camped in the Hinterlands, a pack of wolves attacked while Solas was on watch. He called out to wake us up.” Sylvie stood and walked to the desk pouring the wine into two tankards. Cullen found himself distracted by the pale skin of her calves as she moved. “I had yet to master sleeping in my armour and so it was only _after_ the wolves had been dealt with and Varric burst out laughing that they realised I was armed with only knickers and my staff!” She held one of the tankards out to Cullen. While he did, on occasion, enjoying a drink, given the _situation_ he did not think it wise to accept. He held up his hand to say 'no' but Sylvie pressed the cup against his palm. “If any man deserves a drink at the end of the day it's you.” She did have a point, he supposed. Cullen took the cup with a sigh as Sylvie sat herself back down on the bed.

“That must have been...” Cullen looked into his tankard thoughtfully, desperately trying _not_ to picture the scene in his head, “...quite the spectacle.” Sylvie laughed.

“That's one way to put it.” She replied. It was then that she seemed to notice that Cullen was still standing stiffly near the door. “Cullen ...would you like to sit down?” At the sound of his name his eyes snapped up to meet hers. The flush began to return to his cheeks. He really should get out of there.

“No ...no thank you. I should not have intruded. I will let you rest.” He made a move to sit his drink down on the table.

“You don't have to leave!” Sylvie said quickly, causing Cullen to pause mid-action. “It would be ...nice to have a change of company.” She gestured to the seat by the desk across from her. After some hesitation, Cullen sat down. For whatever reason, Sylvie wanted him to stay and Maker knew he didn't really _want_ to leave. Cullen took a slow mouthful of wine, the liquid fruity on his tongue and warm in his throat.

“Did you bore so quickly of your companions in the field?” He asked lightly, taking another drink of his wine. Sylvie laughed.

“Not ...exactly.” She took a long drink of her own wine and Cullen felt himself looking to her for elaboration. “I am very fond of all of them but ...Sera can be exhausting, Blackwall isn't exactly a chatty man ...Bull was fun enough though- great story teller and an even better warrior.” Cullen tilted his head, she had neglected to mention Dorian with whom she had grown so obviously close since he returned with her from Redcliffe. While he didn't like to put much stock in rumour there had been whispers about just how close the two of them had become. Cullen wasn't quite sure how those rumours made him feel now.

“Dorian was with you, too.” He eventually said slowly. Cullen wondered if she could hear the unspoken intention behind his words. While it wouldn't be appropriate for him to pry, there would surely be nothing wrong with his finding out if Sylvie offered the information up on her own.

“Don't get me wrong,” She said, “Dorian has quickly become the closest friend I've had in years but...”

“But...?” Cullen repeated. He felt himself leaning forward just a little. Sylvie sighed and waved her free hand in exasperation.

“He spent the first half of the trip arguing with Blackwall- who, might I add, was _just_ as guilty in the situation as Dorian.” She took another mouthful of her wine, continuing to talk after she swallowed. “And _then_ , when I thought I'd solved the issue by sending Blackwall back with the Chargers, he started bickering with Bull.”

“A Tevinter mage and a Qunari,” Cullen said tentatively, not wanting to offend her, “you must have expected _some_ conflict?” Sylvie shook her head.

“It never even crossed my mind.” She admitted. “I, clearly naively, thought that everything would be peachy since we're all on the same team.”

“You would _think_ it worked like that.” Cullen told her. “Unfortunately the world is not so black and white.”

“So I'm finding out.” Sylvie grumbled quietly, scowling into her drink. Cullen didn't want to let on that he agreed with her assessment of her naivety. He had to remind himself that for her, the world probably always _had_ been black and white. She showed magical ability and was taken to the Circle, no debate. She spent her life in a tower, everyone else got to live in the outside world. When a mage fell to demonic possession they were struck down. If a mage was deemed a possible threat they were stripped of magic and made tranquil, no questions asked. Mages were either rebels or loyalists- no seeing it from both sides of the fence. There was no real room for grey in that life she had lived. Eventually, Sylvie broke the silent reverie.

“So, what brought you here? Did something happen while I was gone?” She was staring into her wine.

“No, nothing...” Cullen cleared his throat in a nervous habit. He wondered if Sylvie had ever picked up on it. “Nothing that can't wait until tomorrows meeting. The messenger reported that you had returned and...” He frowned slightly, eyes casting sidewards and staring into the fireplace. Cullen took a deep breath, steeling himself before speaking again, still unable to look at her. “I wanted to see you ...to see if you were okay.”

“Oh, Commander!” She said, her tone playful in a clear attempt to diffuse some of the odd tension that seemed to have settled in the air, “Did you miss me?” Cullen finally looked across at her, he could feel the scarred side of his lip tugging upwards into a half smile. Sylvies gaze swiftly darted away and she took an _extremely_ large mouthful of wine.

“If I were to be completely honest...” Cullen stopped, the smile leaving his face and he mirrored Sylvie by taking a long gulp of his own drink. He was no doubt about to make an absolutely terrible mistake. Perhaps he could blame the wine. “I ...noticed that you weren't here ...in Haven, I mean.” He felt his neck flush and he went back to staring into the fire.

“Oh...” was all Sylvie said for an agonisingly long moment, “So you _did_ miss me?” She said quietly causing Cullen to frown.

“I _suppose_ that would be a way to describe it ...we never had a chance to talk before you left- about what happened when we returned with the mages.” He turned back to meet her eyes, actually holding her gaze for what felt like the first time since he came in. “I found myself ...thinking about you ...about whether you were alright after ...everything.” Sylvie broke the stare between them and looked away, her face sad. Cullen very suddenly wanted to be able to hold her again.

“I ...wasn't,” She admitted, “but getting some time away has helped ...it doesn't hurt quite so much as it did.” The last part was said in a voice barely above a whisper. The quiet tension hung over them again, both of them drinking from their tankards in almost complete unison.

“I've been having nightmares.” Sylvie said softly, looking over to Cullen. “Well, _different_ nightmares, I mean. Instead of dreaming about the Breach and demons and the charred bodies at the Temple of Sacred Ashes I've been dreaming about Ostwick. I told you before how I wasn't there when the Circle fell?” Cullen nodded. “When I sleep- when I'm in the fade- I _am_ there. I'm standing side by side with the other loyalists, the rebels facing us in an identical line, and there are rows upon rows of children behind us.” Cullen watched as her expression grew dark. “One by one the mages beside me fall until I'm the only one standing between the children and the rebels ...the rebels, they begin to ... _melt_ and when I look down at my hands they are dripping with blood. That's when I realise that _I'm_ the one who's causing it ...with blood magic...” Sylvies face grew pale, her grip on her tankard so tight that her knuckles began to turn white but she kept her eyes locked on Cullens. “The more blood that flows, the louder they scream and I _enjoy_ every second of it. Then the children are screaming for help. That's when I turn around, the same every night, just in time to see the Templars cutting them down but too late to stop them. So I try to draw blood from the _corpses_ of the children but someone Silences me ...the blood, though …the blood keeps covering me, dripping into my eyes and my nose and I can _taste_ it, metal on my tongue, warm on my throat as I swallow...” Sylvie paused and rubbed at her eyes, “and that's the moment I wake up ...wake up _choking_ on the blood of the children I couldn't save...”

Cullen knew he was staring at her, he could only hope that the horror he felt at her dream wasn't written all over his face. Everything she had told him reflected his own fears when it came to mages. The violence, the blood magic ...they were nightmares he knew all too well but for him they had at one time been _real_ . He had seen it, been victim to it ...suddenly Cullen could feel the weight of the magical prison around him again. He wasn't sitting in a hut in Haven but on his knees in front of the Hero of Fereldan and calling her a trick of the demon. Cullen took a long breath, grip tight on his tankard as he tried to bring himself back into the moment. He focussed on the wood under his hands, focussed on the curve of it's handle and the smell of the wine drifting up from it. He could feel his body start to shake beneath his armour but at least he knew _it_ was real. It's gone. It's done. It's gone. It's done. He repeated the chant over and over until the terror subsided.

What possible thing could he say now with the history that he had? Especially after his reaction. That it was only a nightmare? That she would never had resorted to something like that? Cullen couldn't _truly_ know that, and a part of him that he kept buried, the _old_ Cullen, was terrified by the knowledge. Sylvie hung her head at his silence.

“I'm sorry...” She said quietly, “I shouldn't have told you that, I never even told _Dorian_ when he asked. It all just ...came out...” She shook her head, repeating, “I'm sorry.”

“It's...” Cullen began to speak but Sylvie's head shot up, her green eyes burning.

“Don't!” She said loudly. “Don't say it's alright! It's ...disgusting that my mind could even conjure something like that. Even just thinking about how much pleasure I took from it in my dream makes me want to vomit.”

“You're not responsible for what you dream, Sylvie.” Cullen said firmly. Her own disgust at the blood magic in her dream quelled, somewhat, the surfacing fear of the young Templar locked away inside his memory but the man he had once been was still whispering _'She is a mage, don't trust her'_. He pushed onwards past the thoughts and kept talking. “The things you see, or do, while you sleep don't make you a bad person.” He had been telling himself that same thing for years although it was a long time before he believed it. “Trust me, I know how ...damaging nightmares can be.” Sylvies shoulders slumped and she drained the last of her wine, sitting the tankard down on the floor. She clasped her hands on her lap, fidgeting slightly.

“I would never do what I did in the nightmares,” she said, her voice small compared to how forceful she had just been, “I hope you are aware of that? I don't know the details but I know you have _history_ that already makes it hard for you to trust mages.” She gave him a sad smile. Cullen felt his chest constrict. “And we were getting along so well before I blurted all that out.” Cullen finished his own wine and sat the tankard down on the desk beside him.

“If you are concerned that my opinion of you has changed...” Cullen began, “...it remains the same.” He left it at that. The voice was still saying _'don't trust her'_ but it was quieter now, soft enough that he felt he could tell it that it was wrong. Sylvie nodded slowly, although she was regarding him carefully as if trying to figure out just what that opinion was. She yawned, an action that for some reason made Cullen smile. “I think that should be my sign to leave.” He tried to keep his voice light.

“I probably _should_ try to sleep,” Sylvie said, “it will be so good to lie on a proper bed.” Cullen stood, body feeling heavy with exhaustion and, likely, wine. Sylvie copied him, standing and walking with him towards the door.

“I will see you tomorrow.” Cullen said, turning and placing his hand on the door handle.

“I thought about you too!” Sylvie said suddenly. Cullen turned back around to face her, noticing that her cheeks were going pink.

“Pardon me?” He asked. Sylvie sighed and looked down to her toes.

“You said you thought about me while I was gone and I just thought I should tell you that ...I thought about you as well...” She looked back up to him, green eyes meeting his. She was close enough that Cullen could smell the lavender from her bath on her skin. “Especially after a nightmare ...I would ...remember how you comforted me when we returned to Haven and...” She sighed, breaking his gaze. “And it would make me feel a little better.”

Cullen stood there for what felt like a long time before he gathered his resolve and reached out a hand and placed it on Sylvies shoulder. She looked up in surprise, raising her own hand and placing it lightly over his.

“Try to get some sleep, Sylvie.” He said, giving her a small smile. Without thinking, he slid his hand from beneath hers and traced the side of her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers.

“You too, Cullen.” She replied, taking a step back to allow him room to open the door.

Cullen nodded once before opening the door and stepping out into the cold night air. His feet crunched along the path as he made his way back to his tent. While he couldn't _quite_ be sure, Cullen thought that he may be in a terrible amount of trouble.

 

 


	11. Catch Me If I Fall

Cullen was walking through the empty halls of Kinloch Hold, distant yells and shrieks echoing off the stone. The emptiness made it hard to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from. He rounded a corner, passing one of the dormitory doorways. The door itself was splintered and battered, lying half off of its hinges. Cullen's nostrils were assaulted by the metallic tang of blood as he stepped into the room. The stone floor was sticky under his feet, the blood beginning to congeal and dry in the oppressive heat of the room. He could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and trickle down his back beneath his armour. The sound of sobbing coming from beside one the beds drew him further into the carnage, drifting through the room and carefully treading around the bodies that were strewn everywhere. The crying woman looked up from where her head was resting on the chest of a fallen mage. Cullen stopped in his tracks, frozen by the red-rimmed, green eyes that stared up at him.

“Cullen!” Sylvie choked out. She was covered from head to toe in red, cuts across her cheeks and hands. “I couldn't save them!” Her voice was a desperate wail, cutting through Cullen's senses. He reached his hand down to her and she raised her own to meet his. Her eyes dropped to his chest, growing wide with fear. She snatched her hand away and scurried backwards out of reach, her feet slipping in the pools of blood. Cullen looked down only to be greeted by the flaming sword of the Templar Order emblazoned upon his breastplate.

“No...” He whispered. “This isn't right...” His eyes drifted upwards to the body Sylvie had been cradling. Cullen took a startled step backwards as the recognition dawned on him. The body was covered in blood, wounded and grimy but Cullen could still recognise Dorians tell-tale moustache and ornate robes beneath the gore. Cullen stepped back again, the heel of his boot nudging at another body. Josephine ...he stepped further and further back into the middle of the room ...Cassandra, Varric, Leliana, Blackwall, Sera ...everyone was there, staring up at the stone ceiling with glassy eyes. His focus darted back to Sylvie who was now on her feet.

“I couldn't save them!” She shouted it this time, flames burning on one hand and the green of the mark crackling on the other. Cullen felt the familiar thrum of lyrium in his veins as it responded to her magic.

“No ...no ...no...” Without any control from him, the smite was pulled forth and struck Sylvie in the chest causing her to scream in pain. Cullen called out her name, reaching for her, grasping for her hand. It wasn't his fault! He didn't mean to hurt her! He had to make it okay.

Cullen looked down with a cry when he felt hands around his ankles. Lelianas pale, dead fingers were grasping at him. He tried to move- to flee the room, to get to Sylvie, to get _anywhere_ but Lelianas grip was too tight. Cullen looked up when Sylvie screamed again. Her own fire was gone, replaced by the sickly green of the mark as it consumed her whole body. Cullen's eyes burned as he watched Sylvie disappear in agony, completely engulfed by the fade. There were more hands on him now, all of them cold and stiff as they dragged him down. With one last cry of his name, Sylvie flared green and the hands finally pulled him down to lie with the other corpses.

 - - - - - - -

Cullen bolted upright in his cot, hand immediately coming to his forehead as his heart beat wildly in his chest. He swung his legs round to place his feet down in an attempt to ground himself. Leaning forward, Cullen dipped his head towards his knees and focussed on regulating his breathing. With one particularly deep breath he gagged, the scent of so much blood and death stuck in his memory.

Gradually, Cullens heart began to slow, breaths coming more evenly and he stood up on shaking legs. The cotton of his tunic was soaked with sweat and the material clung to him as he peeled it off and folded it over the chair. He took a few, wobbly steps towards the basin and cupped his hands in the freezing water, splashing it over his face before rubbing some on the back of his neck. It wasn't difficult for him to figure out the nightmare- hurting Sylvie in the guise of a Templar, the image of her being consumed by the fade and his being left with the dead. His mind was many things but subtle was clearly not one of them.

He sighed, running a damp hand through his hair in an attempt to flatten it down. There was light peaking under the canvas of his tent, not enough to indicate dawn but enough to show that it was close. Cullen grabbed a fresh tunic from his trunk and began the slow ritual of becoming The Commander. He shivered involuntarily as he pulled on his cloak, the memory of the lyrium singing in his blood as he cast the smite at Sylvie coming to the forefront of his mind. It send another wave of nausea over him, not from the feel of it but from the _wanting_ of it. He grabbed a nearby pitcher of water and took a long drink, trying to push the sickness away. Rubbing at his eyes, Cullen returned the pitcher to the desk and reached for his sword belt, fastening it around his waist before stepping outside.

The sky was still dark blue in the patches Cullen could see between the clouds. Over the mountains, the cloud cover was thicker, darker, threatening snowfall by some point in the day. At the fore of everything, the Breach glowed brightly, still swirling and shifting despite it's apparently dormant state. Not for the first time, Cullen wondered just how good their chances of sealing it permanently really were ...how good _Sylvies_ chance were. His route took him close to Sylvies hut and he looked along the path towards it as he passed. It was dark inside. Cullen hoped she was sleeping peacefully for once. Or was Sylvie also waking from a nightmare, heart pounding frantically as his had been? He could hear her voice in his head from the previous night, confessing as to how it was _him_ that she had thought about upon waking from her nightmares. Cullen rubbed at his temples and continued forwards.

He nodded to the sentries as he passed through the gate. It was still early enough that it was the night watch who were on duty. The site of the Commander walking around Haven at this time of the day was not something unusual to them. The soldiers spoke of his dedication, of his work ethic. They saw the stalwart Commander and not the dark circles beneath his eyes or the way his hands would tremor from time to time. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. In many ways it was a similarity that he and Sylvie shared. Almost everyone saw The Herald, their defender and potential saviour- the strong and powerful woman who brought more to their cause every day. Cullen was very quickly realising how _different_ from that image she was.

Twice now, Sylvie had shown Cullen how vulnerable she was. She perhaps would never admit it, at least not to him, but Cullen could see that she was scared.

The previous night had, possibly unfortunately, made clear in his mind just _where_ his feelings towards her were beginning to lie. He could have ignored it, could have tucked it all away in a box in his mind like so many other things, if it hadn't seemed like there was ... _something_ there for her too. Cullen sighed, passing by the blacksmiths who were just beginning to stir. Given _both_ their pasts it would probably be insane to even pursue _it._ Whatever _it_ was. The Breach caught his attention as he moved out of sight of Haven. For the time being _that_ was all that mattered, anything else could wait until after. Maybe ... _maybe_ once Sylvie sealed The Breach they could get to properly know one another. She would make him laugh and he could do the same for her. She would smile and maybe he would get an opportunity to feel her pressed against him at a time when she wasn't lost in grief.

It was much to hope for but it had been a long time since he had any _cause_ to hope ...for anything. They would get her through this and then they would see.

Taking a deep breath, the crisp mountain air refreshing in his lungs, Cullen picked up his stride. His thoughts finally felt in order. He had worked through them and stacked them mentally up in neat little rows. He had a plan (which always made him feel better), the plan had clarity and, with everything in order, he felt much more capable of facing another day. The sound of someone swearing up ahead stopped him dead, hand instinctively going to his sword. Never had he come upon someone out here so early. Trying to move with as little sound as possible, Cullen crept into the trees for cover. The crunching of the snow underfoot was making stealth difficult but he made it to his vantage point unnoticed. He paused behind a tree trunk wide enough to keep him mostly concealed before leaning his head out.

Cullen instantly frowned at the bundled up figure, gender and identity indeterminable from this distance and from under the thick cloak. The strangers identity as a mage became apparent as he or she stopped to pick up a staff. The mage turned, now facing in Cullens direction but eyes scowling with determination at the ground. The tension in Cullens body left in a blink, replaced by utter bewilderment.

What in Andraste's name was Sylvie doing out here before the sun had even fully risen? And why was she now glaring at some rocks like they had just insulted her mother?

Cullen watched as Sylvie sheathed her staff on her back and placed her hands on her hips. He was half way out from behind his tree, ready to announce himself when Sylvie dropped her arms to her side and broke into a run. Frowning, Cullen began to step forward and watched curiously as Sylvie veered towards a rock. She planted her left foot on it firmly, bringing her right foot up to the slightly higher rock adjoining it. At the same time, she reached around to grab her staff. Cullen saw her mistake almost instantly. When she tried to bring her left foot up, her whole weight was on her right leg and, combined with the wide arc of her staff, the gesture made her pitch dangerously to the side. Clearly noticing too late to correct her balance, Sylvie tumbled straight off the rock and landed face first in the dirt.

Calling her name, Cullen jogged towards her. She began to lift her head but, with timing so perfect it could have been scripted, her staff rolled off the rock and landed on her head, bouncing off her skull with a thwack. She dropped her face back down, leaning her forehead on her arm and groaning.

“Maker's breath, are you alright?” Cullen asked, crouching down by the side of her head. Sylvie turned to look at him. The cheek that Cullen could see was grazed and there were splatters of dirt across her chin and on the tip of her nose.

“I am well, and how are you this morning, Commander?” She replied.

“I wasn't exactly exchanging pleasantries.” Cullen said with a snort. “My question was more related to you lying face down in the dirt.” Sylvie smiled.

“Oh, _that!_ ” She rolled onto her back, completely oblivious to the mess she was making of herself. Cullen couldn't abide being that grubby. Even as a child he had been meticulous when it came to dirt and keeping things orderly. It had served him well in later life while living in barracks and in Circles but it had amused his siblings to no end at the time.

“Well, you see,” Sylvie began, head pillowed on her arm as she stared up at the clouds. “When we were in the Storm Coast, Sera kept doing this thing where she would leap from rock to rock in order to get a better view to 'fire arrows into everyones arses'” Cullen snorted as Sylvie continued. “It seemed like a good idea for me as well, it would give me a view of targets _and_ keep me out of the way.”

“That makes sense, Cullen agreed before his brows furrowed in thought, “but why sneak out of Haven so early? And why not ask Sera to assist you?” Sylvie shrugged non-committally and kept her gaze on the sky.

“I ...woke up and there was no chance I was getting back to sleep. I thought this might clear my mind.” She turned her head to look at him seriously. Cullen gave her a small nod to show he understood- she'd been awoken by the same reason as he had. At his understanding expression she smiled and turned her gaze upwards again. He briefly wondered if her first thought had been of his embrace. “Also, have _you_ every tried getting Sera to take anything seriously? She'd probably trip me up after describing what to do using arse references and rude gestures.” Cullen snorted.

“From the conversations I have had with her I am inclined to agree.” He felt his lips curve into a smile. “So ...where in this battle strategy does falling _off_ the rocks come in?” Sylvie looked round to grin at him.

“Playing dead?” She quipped back and laughed. “No one ever _plans_ to fall, Cullen.” She stated plainly, her eyes finding his. “It sometimes just happens.” A brief silence passed between them before Cullen cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Anyway! As it it turns out, I have none of Seras balance and poise and so ...here I am.” Cullen stood back up, knees cracking loudly in protest.

“Your feet are the problem.” He told her, hands coming to rest on the pommel of his sword. Sylvie sat up and frowned down at said feet, wiggling them around as if searching for an issue.

“My feet?” She asked. “What's wrong with my feet?” She looked up at him for an explanation. Cullen gave her a wry smile, recalling the day at the half-built mage encampment when he found her practically rolling around in tent canvas.

“Must so many of our conversations continue to happen with you on the ground?” He joked, pulling another laugh from her. She clambered into a standing position.

“Better?” Cullen nodded in response and she continued to speak. “So, _Commander_ , what exactly is the problem with my feet?”

“You're leading the jump on your left foot and stepping upwards with your right one.” He told her. Sylvies brows knit together in thought.

“Okay...”

“But you're also drawing your staff with your right hand...” Cullen waved at the weapon in question which was still lying on the ground. Sylvie looked like she was trying so hard to follow his line of thought that Cullen couldn't help the chuckle that burst forth. “When you do that and then lift up you left foot, all your weight is on the right hand side of your body...”

“And I fall down.” Sylvie finished for him. “So, right foot first and then bring out my staff while I'm holding my weight on my _left_ foot?” Cullen nodded in agreement. “Excellent!” She stooped to pick up her staff, sheathing it down her back and returning to her previous starting position.

“I assume you're trying again?” Cullen called down the path to her.

“Yes!” She shouted back. “Catch me if I fall?”

“Always.” The reply had left Cullens mouth before his brain had a chance to censor it and he felt himself flush. Sylvie, however, was seemingly too focussed on the task at hand to notice his odd choice of word. She ran, faster than Cullen had imagined she would be- long legs propelling her forwards. Cullen felt a flicker of pride as she followed his advice and landed solidly on the rock, leaping to the higher one and drawing her staff with only a slight wobble.

Realising she had managed the move, Sylvie let out a whoop of triumph, dropping her staff in her excitement. She reached out to try to catch it but missed, her momentum carrying her forwards and off the rock. She landed shakily on her feet but Cullen had already stepped forwards to keep her upright. His hands grabbed her hips to steady her, the force of her landing bringing her body almost flush against his. She was still grinning with her success when she tilted her head at him.

“It would seem I am beginning to form a habit of ending up in your arms.” She said, her tone teasing. Cullen noticed that, despite the joke, she hadn't moved away.

“So it would seem.” His voice came out low and he watched as Sylvie's expression dropped. She was looking at him more seriously than he had ever seen her look.

“Is it a problem?” She asked quietly, causing Cullen to swallow heavily. This had _not_ been part of his plan. He forced himself to hold her gaze.

“No ...not at all.”

Sylvie broke their stare first, her eyes flitting down to his lips for the tiniest of seconds before looking back up. This most certainly was _not_ 'after'. Cullen could sense The Breach in his peripheral vision, a bright green reminder of the situation they were in. No matter _what_ was going on in both their heads they had to wait. Although now that her body was pressed against his, Andraste preserve him, he was forgetting _why_ he'd thought it a good idea to wait. He wanted exactly what was happening and he wanted it _now_ . This mage in his arms had gotten under his skin with her bright eyes and easy smiles. He wanted, _needed_ , to keep her there where she would be safe. Where she would be _his._ But it was too much, too soon ...there was too much to do and too much at stake.

The feel of her hip beneath his fingers was throwing chaos into his carefully constructed order and, without thinking, Cullen brought one hand up from her hip to her face, tracing his thumb slowly across the graze received in her earlier fall. And then her arms were on his biceps and his hand was cupped around the side of her head. He could almost count the freckles across her nose and when her tongue flicked out over her bottom lip the sight almost undid him then and there. Sylvie moved first, tilting her head up the tiniest amount required to make up for their height difference. As her face tilted, Cullen felt his own face move towards hers. It was too late now, no turning back or ignoring what happened. Somehow, his hand was in her hair and _Maker_ it was so soft.

" **Commander!** "

The shout from behind them made Sylvie jump back as if struck. Cullen saw her cheeks begin to burn scarlet as she hastily turned around and ducked down to grab her fallen staff. He wondered if this was the Maker sending a sign. A scout, flushed and breathless ran towards him, skidding on the path as he came to a halt.

“Commander!” The scout wheezed out, “I'm looking for The Herald, she wasn't in her cabin when I was sent for her.”

“I'm right here.” Sylvie said, stepping back to Cullens side. Cullen kept his eyes forward, not trusting himself to look at her. She had been so very close...

“My Lady!” The scout said in surprise, still struggling to breathe. Something was wrong. The man in front of them looked frantic, eyes wide as they darted between both Sylvie and Cullen. “Sister Leliana asked me to find you ...both of you, actually.” He said, nodding to Cullen. “It's the mages.”

Cullen felt Sylvie stiffen beside him. She was close enough that their shoulders were touching. Cullen spoke before she could.

“What's wrong, Scout...?”

“Jenkins, Commander.” He replied. “Nothing's wrong but I was to find you, tell you...” Jenkins trailed off, eyes drifting over Cullens shoulder to where they were clearly lingering on The Breach. If Cullen remembered one thing from that moment for the rest of his life, it would be the sudden grip on his hand from where Sylvie had reflexively grabbed it.

“The mages, Ser ...they're ready.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited about this chapter. It took a pretty different direction that I'd originally planned but it seems that Cullen and Sylvie have their own ideas about how their romance is going to go! A massive thanks as usual to everyone who is reading/subbing/leaving kudos and know that every one causes me to do a little dance. And thanks, of course, to Gabtinha for all the suggestions and help. It makes my brain work better.


	12. I Am Not Going To Die

This was it. There would be no more talk of The Breach, no more theories or arguments about how to seal it. It had been easy for Sylvie to push it to the back of her mind when it was just talk- like something that was happening to someone else- but the breathless words of a single Scout had made it _real_. Without a word to the scout, or each other, she and Cullen had torn off down the path back to Haven. There would, hopefully, be plenty of time later to address what had just passed between them but for now only The Breach mattered.

At no point during their run had Sylvie let go of Cullen's hand. She even still had her staff drawn but didn't have the time to stop and wonder just how the scene would look to anyone that saw them- The Herald of Andraste covered in mud and looking prepared to cast magic as she ran, hand in hand, through Haven with the Commander of the Inquisition. It was really a small mercy that it was so early in the morning.

They had burst into the Chantry, dashing to the war room and nearly falling through the door. In perfect unison, Sylvie and Cullen had let one another go as everyone in the war room turned at their entrance.

Sylvie had listened as Grand Enchanter Fiona told them all of how she and the Senior Enchanters had formed their plan to fill Sylvie with power and (allegedly) keep her alive throughout the process. The explanation had been followed by an increasingly heated debate about when to leave. Everyone had an opinion and Sylvie stood silent while the voices in the room grew louder, beginning to talk over one another. Cullen, in particular, had been particularly insistent that they needed another day, at least, to organise.

“Enough!” Sylvie eventually shouted, slamming her hands on the war table. “While I understand Josephine and Cullens desire to be better organised, if I'm honest ..and yes, I am going to swear. “ She gave Josephine a smile. “Now that I'm aware we have a plan I don't think that I can look at that thing in the sky for one more fucking second.” Sylvie took a deep breath and turned to the Grand Enchanter. “The Senior Enchanters know what they're going to do but are they _ready_? Are they rested? Recharged?” Fiona nodded.

“They are, Herald. We await only your command.”

A whole group of Enchanters looked to her for a command? Maker, they were all doomed. She kept that particular thought to herself.

“We'll need some soldiers too, just in case...” Sylvie trailed off. Leliana, Josephine and Fiona all awkwardly averted their gazes but Cullen kept his eyes on her. His jaw was tight, lips set in a thin line and, while Sylvie would never swear to it, there was a look that was somewhere between regret and fear in his eyes. It would probably be terribly inappropriate, however, to launch herself across the table at him and bury herself in his cloak for comfort. As much as she might want to. Cullen finally spoke and saved Sylvie from both an ill-timed fantasy and having to vocalise the fact that she might fail.

“I can have soldiers ready within the hour.” Cullen folded his arms across his chest. “I will lead the contingent myself.” Sylvie opened her mouth to reply but it was Leliana who spoke first.

“It may be more wise for your to remain in Haven, Commander.” She said, turning her eyes to Sylvie. “Just in case.” She gave Sylvie the tiniest of nods. It wasn't _at all_ what Sylvie had been going to say but Leliana was right. If she failed, the Inquisition would need it's Commander in Haven to deal with whatever the fallout was. Lots and lots of demons would have been Sylvie's guess.

“Right...” Sylvie looked around the room at each of them in turn. She was met with varying degrees of fear, sorrow and determination. Should she make some kind of speech? Say her goodbyes, _just in case_? Sylvie didn't quite know the correct approach so she chose to simply nod then flee.

Haven was still mostly dormant as she hurried back to her cabin to get ready. Hopefully they could be organised and away before too many people were awake to see what was happening. Sylvie slipped inside the cabin and threw her cloak on the floor. She washed the dirt off her face in her basin and was mid-way through putting on a clean vest when the door flew open.

“I thought I saw you running around.” Dorian declared as he shut the door behind himself. “I was woken up by the sound of scouts buzzing around like hyperactive nugs and...” He finally caught the expression on Sylvie's face. “Why do you look like someone took a shit in your teapot?” Sylvie screwed up her face.

“Why would someone shit in a teapot?” She asked, vest hanging around her neck where she had momentarily forgotten about it.

“It's just a turn of phrase, Sylvie.” Dorian replied with a roll of his eyes.

“I don't even _have_ a teapot!”

“Sylvie!” Dorian snapped, his voice growing serious. “What's going on?” Sylvie turned away and continued getting ready.

“The mages have a plan to seal The Breach.” She tucked her vest into her leggings, fresh ones of course- she didn't want to face her possible death covered in the mornings mud.

“I see,” Dorian replied slowly, “I take it from the fact that you are mid outfit change that we're leaving shortly?” Sylvie sighed. _This_ was one of the conversations she had wanted to avoid. She bent down to pull on her boots, making a point of not meeting Dorians gaze. “Putting on shoes does not make a person invisible, I can still see you perfectly well crouched down there.” Sylvie stood up and turned to face Dorian. She was about to respond when he narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. Quite clearly Dorian had been able to see her thoughts written all over her face. “No. I am _not_ staying behind.”

“Yes, you are.” She told him plainly, mirroring his defensive posture. “In order to seal The Breach, I need to do what I did before- activate the rift with the mark before closing it properly. The _last_ time I did that a pride demon fell on top of us. If I...” She took a deep breath. “If I fail then there is a very high chance that demons will come pouring down that mountain.” Dorian's expression dropped in realisation.

“And Haven will be their first port of call on their murderous journey.” He finished for her. Sylvie nodded.

“I want to go up that mountain knowing that there are people I trust here to help with any defence. It should be pretty clear, even from here, if the plan hasn't worked. If it _does_ seem like I have failed, I want you to go straight to the mage camp, get the children and get them somewhere safer.”

“So, if I'm following your plan correctly,” Dorian began, cupping his hand around his chin, elbow resting on his folded arm, “In the event of your miserable failure and probable death, not only do I lose my newly found best friend I also acquire twenty or so children into my care?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Basically ...yes,” Sylvie dropped her hands to her side and took a step towards him. “Promise me, Dorian.” He sighed, grabbing her hands.

“I promise. But _you_ have to promise _me_ that you're coming back- you know I'm not overly fond of either demons _or_ children.” Dorian said, his grip on her hands tightening. Sylvie hung her head.

“You know I can't promise that.” She told him.

“You're the Herald of Andraste- you can promise whatever you bloody well like.” Dorian scoffed. Sylvie had to laugh.

“Very well. I, Sylvie Olivia Trevelyan, _supposed_ Herald of Andraste, do solemnly promise you, Dorian of House Pavus, that I will seal The Breach, that I will not die nor leave you responsible for the well-being of tiny mages.” Dorian snorted and finally let go of her hands, leaving Sylvie free to pull on her long coat and grab her staff.

“Excellent!” Dorian declared. “You may now go off to save the world and be home in time for supper. At which point we will get spectacularly drunk and have a jolly old time.” Sylvie laughed, sheathing her staff on her back and pulling on her fingerless gloves.

“And I can also tell you the story of how I nearly kissed the Commander of our army this morning.” She added casually, walking passed Dorian and out the door.

“Precisely ...wait! What?” Dorian chased after her, walking beside her as she strode towards the gates. In spite of her current situation, Sylvie could feel the smirk tugging at her lips.

“Now is not the time for _that_ discussion, Dorian.” Sylvie admonished. “Or are you forgetting about my plans to save the world?” She could practically _feel_ Dorians glare burning through her cheek as they walked down the stairs and along passed the stables.

“Well now you _positively_ can't die.”

Sylvie was readying a reply when they caught sight of the Senior Enchanters and the accompaniment of soldiers standing by the gates that led up to where the Temple of Sacred Ashes had once stood. All previous mirth fled from Sylvie in an instant, an almost crippling wave of dizziness flooding over her and turning her blood to ice. She swallowed passed the bile at the back of her throat before darting behind a wall. Sylvie pulled Dorian with her and he toppled into the hiding place with an undignified yelp.

“What in Andraste's flaming knickers are you doing?” He said loudly. Sylvie's grip on Dorian's forearm tightened but if she was hurting him he didn't let it show.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down.” Sylvie's eyes darted around. “I think I'm going to vomit.” She told him quietly. She could _feel_ how wide her eyes were and how frantic her face must look.

“Well don't vomit on me!” Dorian whispered back. Even so, he didn't pull away from where Sylvie had practically squashed him against her.

“I can't do this.” Sylvie whispered. The war room had made the situation feel real but _this_ was a completely different feeling. It had all been morbid speculation coupled with dark humour until this point but she _could_ actually be mere hours away from dying. Dorian looked at her, sorrow in his eyes but voice firm.

“You don't have a choice.” He told her. “We don't often get a say in our fates.” In a gesture of genuine affection, Dorian pressed their foreheads together and cupped his hand on the back of Sylvies head. “I'm afraid that the hand you've been dealt just so happens to be more shit than average.” Sylvie moved her hand from Dorian's forearm to entwine their fingers together.

“I don't want to die.” Her voice came out as barely a whisper. She felt Dorians hand reflexively squeeze hers.

“You're not going to die. Or have you already forgotten your promise?” Dorian replied. He pulled back a little, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Now, repeat after me- I am _not_ going to die.”

“I am not going to die.” Sylvie repeated his words but Dorian wasn't convinced. He stepped back as far as he could in their hiding place and narrowed his eyes.

“No, that will not do.” He told her. Sylvie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She opened them again once she felt like she had both feet back on the ground and met Dorian's stare.

“I am _not_ going to die.” She said firmly and even she nearly believed it that time. Dorian nodded.

“Now that's dealt with, get your brave face on.” He let go of her hand. Sylvie shook out her shoulders before straightening her posture. She tried to make her expression determined, her eyes fierce. Her fear wasn't quite gone, not by a long shot, but thanks to Dorian's words she was able to stuff it somewhere that her mind couldn't quite reach.

“Ready?” He asked her.

“I guess I'll just need to be.” She replied with smile.

Sylvie stuck her head out from their hiding place to make sure no one was looking in their direction. Satisfied that her little meltdown had gone unnoticed, Sylvie stepped back out onto the path and gestured for Dorian to follow. The entire time they walked, she had to resist the urge to grab his hand for comfort. Instead she repeated the mantra of 'You can do this' over and over in her head. As she and Dorian reached the contingent of mages and soldiers, Sylvie spotted the unmistakeable fur of Cullen's cloak. His back was to her, the soldier he was speaking to clearly listening intently to his Commanders orders. The soldier saluted and returned to the rest of the party, relaying orders and getting everyone ready to leave. Sylvie watched as Cullen briefly hung his head, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he turned around. Cullen frowned when he saw her, momentarily hesitating before he seemed to reach some kind of internal conclusion and began to walk towards her. He was stopped in his tracks by Cassandra appearing in front of him. With one lingering look in Sylvie's direction, he moved his focus to the Seeker.

“Herald,” Grand Enchanter Fiona said, startling Sylvie away from watching Cullen. “We are ready to leave on your order.” Sylvie nodded absently, eyes drifting back to Cullen. He appeared to be nodding at Cassandra's words but, as if feeling eyes on him, he looked over Cassandra's shoulder and met Sylvies gaze. “Herald? ...Sylvie? Are you ...well?” Fiona asked softly, causing Sylvie to snap her gaze back to the elven woman in front of her.

“Yes ...sorry ...of course, Grand Enchanter.” She replied. “If you will excuse me for just a few more moments, we can then get under way.” Fiona inclined her head and drifted back over to the rest of the Enchanters, several of whom were deep in conversation with Solas.

Sylvie looked over to see that Cassandra had clearly picked up on Cullen's lack of attention and had followed his line of sight to where Sylvie was standing. Even from where Sylvie was, she could see Cassandra's eyes narrow in thought, looking from Sylvie to Cullen and back again.

“I think the Seeker has the two of you sussed out already.” Dorian leaned in to whisper. Sylvie snorted.

“I doubt Cassandra Pentaghast would sense that sort of thing even if it was shoved up her nostrils.” She replied quietly.

“I am assuming you are going to go and speak to him?” Dorian asked. “Oh do give him a kiss, it would be such a grand tale.” Sylvie punched him on the arm and pointed to the sky.

“Really not the time.” She turned to face Dorian. “You'll remember your promise?” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes ...tiny mages. Blah blah blah,” he waved a hand dismissively. “I remember- but it won't be of any matter. You're coming back.”

“I'm coming back.” Sylvie replied. She near enough _lunged_ forward and pulled him into a hug. It was probably entirely inappropriate but Sylvie quite frankly didn't have the time or brain power to give a nugs ass. Dorian squeezed her and stepped back with a nod.

“Off you go now, before things get too syrupy.”

Sylvie returned his nod and turned on her heel, striding with a confidence she absolutely did not feel towards Cassandra and Cullen. The Commander's posture stiffened, hands resting on the pommel of his sword as he looked any where _but_ at Sylvie.

“Are you ready to leave, Herald?” Cassandra asked. Sylvie was ridiculously pleased that the Seeker was coming with them. She exuded a ferociousness and confidence, no matter the situation, that Sylvie desperately wanted to emulate. On many of their travels, Sylvie had drawn strength simply from Cassandras being there with her.

“Nearly,” Sylvie replied, “I just require a moment with the Commander.” Cassandra's brows furrowed for just a moment before her face grew impassive again.

“As you wish. I will make sure everyone is appropriately organised.” Cassandra bid Cullen farewell, passing one last glance between the Commander and Sylvie before striding off. Dorian, as usual, looked like he was correct. Another problem for another day, however.

When Cassandra had left them alone, an awkward silence settled over them almost instantly. Sylvie felt like she really should have worked out exactly what she was going to say before coming over. Now was _not_ the time to mention what had happened that morning. As much as she might suddenly want to. If it even _were_ a topic for discussion then there would be time to talk about it if and when she didn't blow herself up. She looked down at her boots, shuffling her foot at the stones on the path. After a few moments, Cullen cleared his throat.

“Is everything ...alright?” He asked her quietly.

“You mean other than the fate of Thedas on my shoulders?” Sylvie retorted, looking up with a smile. This time it was Cullen who suddenly became fascinated by the ground.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean ...that was...” He sighed. “That was a ridiculous question.” Sylvie shrugged.

“It's okay,” She replied, “there aren't many _good_ things to say at a time like this.” Cullen looked back up, eyes meeting hers.

“Perhaps, but there are _plenty_ of bad things to say.”

“Like 'looking forward to your trip up the mountain?'.” Sylvie quipped. Cullen snorted, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes, like that.” Cullen let his hand fall back to his side, gaze drifting up to the sky. The tense quiet fell upon them again and Sylvie sighed.

“I'm trying to think of something to say that doesn't sound like a goodbye.” She told him quietly. He looked back to her. His golden-brown eyes were bright with an intensity that momentarily took Sylvie aback.

“There is no reason to say goodbye.” Cullen said firmly. “This plan from the Senior Enchanters is sound. It ... _you_ will not fail.” His expression softened in the blink of an eye. Sylvie thought that he too was surprised by his sudden fierceness.

She wanted to tell him how scared she was, to have him add his voice to Dorian's in telling her that everything would be okay. But, there was something inside of her that stopped her from being as honest with Cullen as she had been with Dorian, despite how ...close they had rapidly become. He looked to have enough concerns of his own about the situation without her adding to them.

“So ...no goodbyes.” She eventually replied. Sylvie clenched her fists at her sides and gave him the best determined expression she could muster. “I won't fail.”

Standing there with him, his eyes on hers, Sylvie actually began to believe it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is sticking with Sylvie on her journey! And for all the lovely, tasty kudos. Special thanks to Gabtinha, without whom this whole chapter would have gone in the bin and been attempted at least three more times.


	13. Waiting Is The Hardest

The midday sun was forcing it's way through the gaps in the snow clouds when Cullen finally gave up on drilling the recruits. He couldn't blame them for their distraction- word of Sylvie's departure had spread like wildfire through Haven. He _had_ hoped to keep his mind focussed by treating it like any other day. However, when the fifth recruit in as many minutes had taken a practice sword to the face while staring at The Breach, Cullen had dismissed the lot of them. From the low hum of chatting patrons as he walked passed the tavern, Cullen could only assume that a large portion of his soldiers had retreated there. He briefly contemplated joining them, hoping an ale would settle his nerves, but he dismissed the notion quickly. If people saw their Commander drinking to calm himself, it would surely send the wrong message.

Cullen reached his tent, resigning himself to burying his head in paperwork but looked up to The Breach before he could stop himself. His fingers clutched unmoving at the fabric of the tent flap. If his timings were correct they should have reached it by now. Perhaps they were even getting into position at this very moment. Cullen sighed, running his hand through his hair as he turned from his tent and headed towards the Chantry.

A small semblance of peace fell over him when he stepped into the dimness of the hall. Even before he had joined the Order, Cullen had found solace and joy inside the walls of the small Chantry in Honnleath. As a boy, he would listen with rapture as the Revered Mother recited passages from the Chant and tried desperately to store them in his mind. The memory made him smile softly- his budding devoutness had made his parents so proud.

Cullen made his way through the swathes of people seeking comfort to the war room door and made his way inside. There was an alter of Andraste in the corner of the room that would allow him to pray away from curious eyes. Cullen noticed Leliana kneeling before the alter. She looked over her shoulder when she heard the door click shut, standing up fluidly.

“Commander,” she said softly, “I wondered how long it would be before you found your way here.”

“The soldiers were unable to focus on their task any more than every one else, it seemed ...pointless to continue.” Cullen replied.

“I am having the same problem.” Leliana told him, turning back to the alter. “I couldn't imagine that The Herald asked for the Maker to guide her before she left. I felt compelled to do it for her.” Cullen folded his arms across his chest. Sylvie's lack of faith had, initially, been a quiet cause for concern amongst them all. Luckily, she had managed to keep the fact hidden. The damage it could do to their cause was unimaginable.

“Tell me, Commander,” Leliana began, breaking Cullen from his reverie, “are you here to pray for The Herald and our salvation?” She turned back to face him. “Or simply to pray for Sylvie?” Cullen frowned. He wasn't entirely sure he was going to like this line of questioning.

“I would assume that, as Spymaster, you would know the answer to that already.” He replied evasively.

“You assume that I have spies reporting on our own people?” Leliana countered. Cullen couldn't help but snort.

“You wouldn't be doing your job properly if you didn't.” Cullen told her and Leliana gave him a rueful smile.

“I suppose not.” She conceded. “I must admit, it surprised even me. Until I watched you watching her.” Cullen sighed, dropping his hands to the pommel of his sword.

“It is a very ...recent development.” Cullen told her. “And complicated.”

“The devout ex-Templar and the non-believing Herald of Andraste? It sounds like a tale I would have once sung by a camp fire.” Leliana looked away, sadness briefly crossing her face before her expression became impassive again.

“You're not _going_ to sing about it, are you?” Cullen asked hesitantly. Leliana laughed softly but Cullen couldn't hear any real mirth in it.

“Never fear, Commander, my days of reciting ballads are long since over.” She stepped forwards, making her way to the door. She paused, fingers lingering on the door handle. “Might I ask- do you intend to pursue it?”

“I ...had considered it, yes.” Cullen knew there was no point in lying to her. Leliana looked over her shoulder at him. She gave him a genuine but sorrowful smile.

“Then may the Maker smile upon you both.” With that, she exited the war room and closed the door softly behind her. Cullen blinked at the empty space Leliana had just occupied. He had been expecting cautions and warnings from the Spymaster, not a blessing. Cullen shook his head. Leliana so often seemed like a completely different woman to the one who helped save him from Fereldan's Circle tower. Every once in a while, however, he saw a glimmer of that light-hearted rogue she had once been.

Cullen made his way around the war table to the alter in the corner. He took a lit candle, dipping it's flame to light another one and sat it back down before lowering himself to one knee. He clasped his hands, resting his lowered face on his knuckles and closed his eyes.

“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder.”

Cullen kept his eyes closed when he finished, the passage from Trials giving him strength and peace. If Sylvie truly _was_ sent to them by the Maker as the Herald of His very bride, then surely He would watch over her on this day of all days.

“Bring her back to us.” Cullen whispered. “Bring her back to me.” He wasn't sure if this growing affection gave him any right to beseech the Maker for such a thing. It couldn't hurt to ask.

There were few people in his life who knew the full extent of what he had suffered at the hands of the blood mages in the Circle Tower. More people knew about the events in Kirkwall and Cullen had more than once faced the question of how he had kept his faith so fiercely in spite of everything he'd seen. Over the years, Cullen had seen the worst of what the world had to offer and it had been during his darkest moments that his faith had been all he had left to cling to. The Maker had been the only one he could call on, and every time Cullen had asked, he had found his way back into the light.

It had often made him wonder what had caused Sylvie's lack of faith. From what Cullen had heard, the Trevelyan family were well known in the Free Marches as devout Andrastians. Many of them were pledged, in some form or another, to the Chantry. Perhaps he would ask her some day, if it didn't feel too inappropriate.

Without warning, the walls of the Chantry shook and Cullen's head snapped up in time to watch several candles topple off the alter, their flames snuffed out on the cold, stone floor. The tremor went as quickly as it came; already finished by the time Cullen had gotten to his feet. He moved quickly, leaving the war room and entering the Chantry hall. The worshippers were hurrying through the open door to the outside and, even from his position, Cullen could see the green light tinting Haven.

Mindful not to jostle anyone, Cullen quickly strode outside, surprised to find himself side-by-side in the doorway with Dorian. The mage noticed him, nodding once as the two of them fell into step and moved outside. Dorian stepped around the side of the Chantry, away from the bulk of the crowd, and Cullen followed. If there was one single person in Haven who might understand how he was feeling, it was Dorian.

They looked up to the Breach, both squinting at the light. Cullen sucked in a breath as he heard Dorian curse in his native tongue. A long, pulsing line of green was streaking from the mountains up to The Breach. That couldn't be coming from Sylvie ...surely _no one_ could survive exerting such a power. Cullen's blood ran cold as the light suddenly flashed once before disappearing. A sound like rumbling thunder rolled over Haven in a wave. And then everything went still.

Slowly, murmurs spread through the crowd, growing louder as the realisation set in that the Breach was gone, leaving behind only a green wisp of scarring across the sky. One solitary cheer went up, followed by several others. Cullen heard reverent cries of “She did it! The Herald did it!” Dorian spoke softly, echoing Cullen's own thoughts before he walked away.

“She did ...but at what cost?”

\- - - -

The celebrations had swung quickly into full effect in Haven and the revellers had already been at it for a couple of hours when Cullen decided he couldn't force himself to watch any longer. It had seemed that only he and Dorian had any misgivings about Sylvie's well being until Leliana had sought him out. She had informed Cullen that she had sent two Scouts on the Inquisition's fastest horses to meet with the party, gather a report and return as swiftly as possible. The Spymaster had dispatched them almost immediately and it was now simply a matter of time before they returned.

Cullen entered the now-empty Chantry and came across Dorian staring pensively into the flame of a candle.

“Dorian...” Cullen called to him quietly. He looked up, eyes tired and face uncharacteristically strained.

“Ah, Commander,” he replied, voice flatter than usual, “I see you've also grown weary of the festivities.” Cullen sighed and looked away.

“I will celebrate when I know that Sylvie is safe.” Cullen admitted.

“Then we are of one mind, Commander.” Dorian said. “I had hoped to block out the celebrations with the help of the Maker but it would appear that we must build His houses with thicker walls.” Cullen snorted before looking up and frowning thoughtfully.

“Follow me.” He said, turning on his heel and continuing on his intended path to the war room. Dorian followed him inside and closed the door behind them, finally drowning out the noise.

“Excellent plan.” Dorian said, stepping up to the war table. “I _almost_ feel better already.”

“Leliana has sent mounted Scouts up the mountain to assess the situation and return as soon as possible ...we should know soon enough.” Cullen told him. Dorian nodded at the information but kept silent.

Cullen noticed that Dorian, as if by instinct, had stopped to stand in the exact spot that Sylvie had claimed as her own. It felt wrong, some how, seeing someone else in that position and frowning down at the map with an expression eerily similar to Sylvie's. Dorian's gaze fell to the disorganised pieces of parchment next to him. He looked around the table. To the right, Josephine's ledger was sitting neatly next to an inkwell, Leliana's side was bare and Cullen's held three separate stacks, perfectly perpendicular to the edge of the table. Dorian snorted as he picked up one of the notes in front of him.

“I assume this is Sylvie's usual spot?” Dorian asked, eyes scanning the parchment in his hand. Cullen couldn't help but smile.

“Is it that obvious?” He retorted. “She doesn't seem to be ...the most organised of people.” Cullen didn't feel the need to tell Dorian that Sylvie's scattered notes made him feel almost itchy inside. Dorian gave a short, sharp laugh.

“Oh, Commander, you have no idea. We can make camp and within thirty seconds of her entering her tent it looks like a rampaging druffalo has been trapped inside.” He looked over at Cullen and gave him a slight smirk. “Her chaos is just yet another facet or her never-ending charm. Don't you agree?” Dorian didn't give him a chance to answer before he continued speaking. “Is this a report she delivered after a trip to the Hinterlands?” Dorian indicated to the note in his hand and Cullen frowned.

“It is ...she read it to us upon her return, it was very thorough. Why?” Cullen took the parchment when Dorian handed it to him.

“It would seem that our Herald is an expert in improvisation then.” Dorian quipped, amusement glinting in his eyes.

Cullen scanned the document. The first line was neatly written, detailing the location by a lake where Sylvie and her party had established an Inquisition camp. Other than that, the parchment was covered in random scribbles of shapes, flowers, a sword and what may or may not have been a crudely drawn bear. The words “I'll tell them when I get there” were scrawled at the bottom. Cullen snorted and shook his head.

“I remember her delivering this report. She held it in her hand as if reciting it word for word...” Cullen shook his head again and sat the parchment back down.

“She _is_ full of delightful surprises.” Dorian remarked. He glanced down at the table, sorrow and concern on his face.

“Are you and her...” Cullen blurted out the words before his brain caught up with his mouth and made him hesitate. Dorian looked up sharply and frowned.

“Are she and I what, Commander?” Dorian folded his arms across his chest.

“Forgive me. It is ...not my place to ask.” Cullen glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. Given what had passed between himself and Sylvie earlier that morning, Cullen was _fairly_ certain that there was no truth to the rumours regarding the _closeness_ between the two mages. But still, the worry that he was treading dangerously close to being caught up in some odd love triangle gnawed at Cullen. Dorian raised an eyebrow when he realised what Cullen had been implying.

“Ah,” he began, “you want to know if the mysterious and handsome mage from Tevinter is fiddling with your Herald?” Cullen spluttered and felt his cheeks begin to redden.

“That wasn't ...no, I meant...” Cullen squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I meant ...I suppose, _yes_ that's what I was asking ...sort of...” Cullen opened his eyes to see Dorian smiling broadly at him.

“Have no fear, Commander.” Dorian said with amusement. “While I do adore Sylvie, she is ...not my type.” When it seemed like Dorian wasn't going to explain further, Cullen let out a long exhale.

“Alright ...good.” Was all he managed to say in response. It seemed more than strange that a light-hearted and beautiful fellow mage _wouldn't_ be Dorian's type but it was not a discussion that Cullen felt any particular need to engage in.

“Has anyone ever mention that you blush adorably, Commander?” Dorian asked with a chuckled. Cullen snorted and rubbed his forehead.

“I can't say that they have, no.” He responded. Dorian opened his mouth, no doubt to say _something_ else embarrassing when the war room door opened. A flushed Scout in sweat stained riding leathers hurried in. Cullen quickly assessed the man as Dorian came to stand beside him.

“Are you one of the Scouts that Sister Leliana sent to find The Herald and her party?” Cullen asked him before the poor man had even caught his breath. The Scout nodded.

“Sister Leliana asked me to come straight to you after I checked in with her.” Cullen felt Dorian tense beside him, speaking before Cullen could.

“Well?” The mage all but snapped in his impatience.

“The contingent are on their way back to Haven- Seeker Pentaghast reports that everything went according to plan.” The Scout told them. Cullen gripped the pommel of his sword tightly.

“And The Herald?” He asked. Cullen knew everything was fine the instant the Scouts face lit up.

“Spoke to her myself, Commander. She was unharmed after sealing The Breach.” The Scout smiled in wonder briefly before he seemed to shake it off. “She gave me this to deliver to Messere Pavus personally.” He handed Dorian a folded note with torn edges.

“Thank you, Scout.” Cullen said. “You're dismissed.” The Scout saluted and left, closing the war room door again. Cullen turned and leaned his hands on the table in an attempt to quell their shaking. Sylvie was unhurt and soon be back in Haven. Cullen sent up a silent thanks to the Maker for, once again, heeding his prayers. Dorian leaned back against the table beside Cullen.

Cullen turned his head slightly to look at the note in Dorian's hand. It was a small square of parchment that, from the neat script on the back of it, Sylvie had clearly torn from a book one of the mages must have had with them. He desperately wanted to ask what she had written but he bit his tongue. After a few moments, Dorian let out a long breath and held the note out to Cullen. He straightened back up, taking the note with still-trembling fingers.

_Dorian,_

_You were right- didn't die. Don't be smug. I'm tired- back soon, though._

_Tell Cullen_ (several things had been vigorously scrubbed out) _tell him I'm fine and_ (further things had been scribbled out) _that'll do for now. Saving the world- exhausting._

_S._

There was nothing Cullen could do to stop his lips curving into a smile. He could practically hear her voice from the page. She was alive and _he_ was in her thoughts, even after everything she had been through that day. The Breach was sealed and _now_ came the 'after' that had so occupied his mind. Cullen went to hand Dorian back the note but the mage waved his hand.

“You keep it- it looks like it means more to you than to me.” He paused before continuing thoughtfully. “Well, not _more_ but I think it means something very _different_ for you.” Cullen gave a slight nod and folded the parchment back up, slipping it into a pocket inside his cloak.

“Thank you.”

“If you want to thank me, you can tell me how you plan on telling Sylvie that you're madly in love with her.” Dorian said flippantly, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. Cullen was certain he went crimson so swiftly that he was at risk of combustion.

“I'm not ...I don't...” He flustered, looking around the room. “I am not madly in love with her.”

“I see ...so it's purely a physical attraction?” Dorian replied casually, folding his arms.

“What?! No! I mean ...yes I'm attracted to her, of course ...but ...Maker's breath,” Cullen groaned. “Do you and her have some game to see who can make me the most flustered?” He rubbed at the back of his neck as Dorian laughed.

“My good man, if I had _known_ how easily embarrassed out stalwart Commander was, don't you think I'd have started a long time ago?” Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I'm guessing so.” Cullen mumbled. He sighed and finally forced himself to meet Dorian's eyes. “I am not in _love_ with her ...we've only begun to really get to know one another.” He hesitated but Dorian waved a hand for him to continue. “But neither is it a simply ... _physical_ thing.”

“You do intend to tell her, yes?” Dorian said, his expression growing somewhat more serious.

“I had ...thought about it- about telling her once The Breach was dealt with.” Cullen admitted.

“Well, it's been dealt with.” Dorian needlessly pointed out. “So it's time you found the words. Based on your earlier blustering I would recommend planning your speech in advance.” Cullen chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“I shall take that under advisement.” He replied.

“I think this calls for a drink. Join me, Commander?”

Cullen's instinctive response had been to decline. However, Dorian's company and camaraderie had been, surprisingly, both comforting and enjoyable. He could see why Sylvie had taken so quickly to Dorian. Cullen hadn't often made friends easily, and finding one in a mage from Tevinter wasn't something he could have pictured. Dorian probably would have said the same of him.

“You know,” Cullen eventually said, “I think I will.” Dorian smiled.

“Excellent decision! I can help you determine the best way to tell Sylvie that you've fallen head over heels without stumbling over your own sentences.” Dorian held out his arm to indicate for Cullen to lead the way. Cullen's lip pulled into a smirk.

“Didn't we _just_ establish that I'm not _actually_ in love with Sylvie?” He quipped as they left the war room and walked through the Chantry.

“Hmmm, we did, didn't we?” Dorian replied. “Give it another few weeks- I think you'll fall quick enough.”

Cullen couldn't quite find the words to disagree.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/Kudos/subs on the last chapter (and every chapter!). I promise I still do a happy dance for every single one. This chapter got a bit long, as will the next few I'd imagine (we all know what's coming!) and so updates may slow from twice weekly to just weekly. Maybe!


	14. Let's Discuss Some Feelings

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, cloudy sky growing dark by the time Sylvie managed to escape the throngs of revellers and well-wishers. She had made the time to stop and speak with everyone who had wanted to talk to her. Some of them had even asked for _blessings_. Sylvie managed to remember enough of the Chantry's teachings from her childhood to satisfy them, careful to keep her expression somewhere between neutral and reverent. From the looks on their faces it had been convincing enough.

It had felt like hours had passed before she even had a chance to _look_ for Dorian or Cullen. She had found Dorian first and he had successfully spirited her away from the crowd. They were now sitting, an hour or so after their escape, on a bench by the fire near the Chantry doors. Sylvie had her head on Dorian's shoulder as they passed a bottle of wine back and forth like a pair of teenagers. Well, what Sylvie _assumed_ teenagers did- there hadn't been many camp fires in the Circle Towers.

Sylvie had told Dorian of how it felt to be filled with so much power before it all, quite literally, exploded from her. She told him about how she had instantly collapsed into unconsciousness, sluggishly coming back around to the feeling of Solas fixing her dislocated shoulder. Her mana had begun to return slowly on the journey down the mountain, cleansing out the uncomfortable sensation of so many magical signatures inside of her. They had lapsed into a comfortable silence after that, Sylvie having to force her eyes to stay open.

“So what did you do while I was gone?” Sylvie asked, hoping that a conversation would keep her awake. “Did you pace around nervously, snapping at anyone who got too close?” Dorian took a mouthful of wine and passed Sylvie the bottle.

“Actually, I prayed in the Chantry and then secluded myself in the war room with the Commander.” He replied plainly and Sylvie snorted. When Dorian didn't say anything else, Sylvie lifted her head from his shoulder to stare at him.

"You're serious?” Sylvie raised an eyebrow before taking a drink from the wine bottle.

“Does my praying surprise you so much?” Dorian asked as he practically snatched the wine from Sylvie's hand. “We're not _all_ heretics like you, my dear.”

“I was more startled by you and Cullen _secluding_ yourselves in the war room...” Sylvie narrowed her eyes. “What _were_ you doing in the war room?” Dorian laughed sharply.

“Oh don't get jealous- it doesn't suit you.” Dorian said waving a hand. “I _also_ wouldn't risk having you set me on fire.” He took a long drink of wine while Sylvie continued to glare, waiting for him to elaborate. “Alas, the Commander does not seem to appreciate my charms and I also believe that he is already smitten with someone...” Sylvie felt her expression soften as Dorian smiled at her. “I _wonder_ who it could be. Perhaps a certain Herald of Andraste who, apparently, nearly kissed said Commander this morning could shed some light on the situation?” Sylvie looked away, eyes settling on the people celebrating down by the cabins.

“You know that thing Sera does- when she leaps onto something to get a good view of fight?” Sylvie said.

“I do ...let me guess- you were trying to do it yourself and the Commander found you?” Dorian replied and Sylvie nodded, still not looking at him.

“He saw me falling off the rock I was jumping on and came over to give me some advice. Apparently my feet were all wrong.” She told him. Dorian snorted.

“You _do_ fall over a fair amount.” He commented. “But how did _that_ turn into an almost kiss? Did you fall straight into his big, strong arms?” Sylvie rolled her eyes, taking the bottle from Dorian's hand.

“Maybe if you stopped talking for two seconds I could actually _tell_ you the story.” She quipped. “Although, you are right ... _as usual_.” Sylvie swallowed down a large mouthful of wine, voice growing quieter. “He caught me and I made some remark about keeping ending up in his arms but instead of laughing it off he got all serious...” She trailed off, finally looking at Dorian. He was leaning it to listen intently.

“And then?” He prompted. Sylvie sighed slightly and turned away again, words tumbling quickly from her mouth.

“Then he had one hand on my hip and he ran his thumb across the graze on my cheek. Before I even knew what was happening he had slid his hand into my hair and I was leaning in and...” Sylvie rubbed at her eyes. “Dorian, the way that Cullen just _looked_ at me. It wasn't like I was The Herald or even a mage ...it was like I was the _only_ thing in his whole world at that moment.”

“How did that feel?” Dorian asked softly. Sylvie gave a small smile.

“I thought you hated talking about feelings?” She asked, dodging his question.

“ _My_ feelings.” Dorian replied. “Discussing your feelings is perfectly acceptable. Now stop deflecting.” He took a drink from the wine bottle and gave it to Sylvie. She stared down at it in her hands.

“It felt …safe.” She said quietly.

“ _Safe_?” Dorian echoed in disbelief. “That is the _only_ word you can think of to describe being in the arms of an incredibly attractive man?” Sylvie shrugged and took a drink.

“Do you realise how confusing this is for me? It was only a month ago that I hated him on principle and I can't figure out _how_ that all changed!” She turned to frown at him. “I _had_ hoped that talking about it would help- make me figure out if I'm just attracted to him or have actual _feelings_ for him.” Dorian gave an over-dramatic sigh.

“I am _trying_ to help you sort out that puzzled little brain of yours but you're not giving me anything to work with.” Dorian regarded her carefully. “Never mind _how_ it happened, simply tell me how you feel about him.”

“I feel...” Sylvie scowled down at the bottle in her hands as if it could answer for her. “I feel ...something.” She finished weakly and Dorian snorted.

“Well that's a start, I suppose. Not a _good_ one ...but a start.” Dorian said and Sylvie responded with a noise of frustration that even Cassandra would have been proud of.

“I don't know how I feel!” She declared, probably a bit too loudly as her temper took over. She pushed herself suddenly to her feet and began pacing back and forth, waving the wine bottle around precariously. “I think about him a lot. When I have a nightmare I think about how I would feel better if he were there. When something makes me laugh, I sometimes wonder if it would make Cullen laugh too. When I walked up to The Breach to seal it, my first thought was that I should have kissed him before I die!” Sylvie stopped abruptly, her voice having gotten higher and louder as her tirade went on.

“I take it from your sudden silence that you've realised you have romantic feelings for him?” Dorian smirked. “Thank the Maker for small mercies- you were beginning to border on 'shrill'. Now sit back down and let us talk like civilised people.” Sylvie glared at him.

“Hang on! You _knew_ how I felt and you didn't think to _tell_ me?” She said frustratedly as she dropped back down onto the bench. Dorian laughed.

“My sweet Sylvie, of _course_ I knew. You may not be able to see how gooey eyed you get at the mention of his name but I can.” Dorian plucked the wine bottle from Sylvie's grasp. “And if I have to be there to _tell_ you every feeling that you have then it's going to make for a fairly awkward courtship. Especially when it comes to the filthy bits.” Sylvie felt a sudden flush come over her at _that_ particular thought. She ignored it and scowled at Dorian instead.

“I don't go gooey eyed.” She grumbled.

“Oh, you do.” Dorian replied cheerfully before taking a drink of wine. “It's so sweet it almost sets my teeth on edge. Although it's not _quite_ as sweet as the way your ears are going pink.” Sylvie groaned and rubbed at her face.

“It's a wine flush.” She mumbled into her hand. Dorian laughed, _clearly_ enjoying torturing her far too much.

“Ah yes- wine flush.” He said sarcastically. “Nothing to do with you being a blushing maid who's spent her life locked in a tower?” It was Sylvies turn to laugh, grabbing the bottle from Dorian and having a drink.

“I'll have you know that for once you are wrong.” She paused in thought, wine bottle held at her lips. “About the maid part, I mean, because I am most _definitely_ blushing.” Dorian grinned wickedly at her.

“ _This_ is a story I must hear. Was it a teenage fumble in a broom closet?” He asked and Sylvie grinned back.

“The overflow storage of the Circle library.” Sylvie told him and Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Clandestine _and_ educational. I like it! Tell me, my dear, was it something about the smell of musty parchment that got you going?”

Sylvie stared at him for a second before dissolving into a fit of giggles that indicated the wine was _finally_ doing it's job. Dorian simply smiled and stared at her like she had lost it. Footsteps crunching towards them made Sylvie look up, wiping the wetness from her eyes. Her laughter tailed off when she saw Cullen standing in front of them, her stomach churning uncomfortably. He was looking between Sylvie and Dorian with an expression somewhere between amusement and confusion.

“Ah, good evening, Commander. How nice of you to join us.” Dorian said with a small smirk. He waved a hand at Sylvie. “Don't mind her- I think closing The Breach has fried her brain.”

“It did not!” Sylvie said with a glare at Dorian.

“ _Really?_ ” Dorian raised an eyebrow and turned back to Cullen. “Tell me, Commander- do _you_ find anything particularly amusing about library storage rooms?” Sylvie could feel her cheeks beginning to flush again and controlled the urge to elbow Dorian in the ribs. Cullen folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Something tells me there is more to this story than mere book storage.” He said sceptically. The scarred side of Cullen's lip was tugging up into a smirk and Sylvie found that she couldn't take her eyes off it.

“Why as a matter of fact there is!” Dorian declared as he stood up from the bench. “Unfortunately that is not my tale to tell.”

Sylvie blinked a couple of time when she finally registered that Dorian had moved. She had _definitely_ not been subtle in her stare and both the men in front of her had seen it. Dorian looked like he had never seen anything more entertaining whereas Cullen cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

“I shall take my leave ... _and_ my wine,” Dorian said, “it will allow our brave Herald to regale you with the story of how she saved the world today.” He gave them both a quick nod and turned away. Once he was out of Cullens line of sight, Sylvie saw Dorian turn and wink at her before striding off. With only a moment of hesitation, Cullen sat down on the bench beside Sylvie. He was close enough that their thighs were touching and Sylvie could smell the armour polish and camp fire smoke on his clothes.

“So ...what _were_ you laughing about?” Cullen asked, gloved hands settling on his thighs.

“We were actually discussing library storage rooms ...technically.” Sylvie replied. Cullen turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

“I don't want to know, do I?” He said and Sylvie snorted.

“No, you probably don't.” She said with a smile. Her eyes very briefly drifted to Cullen's mouth and she looked away. They lapsed into silence as they both stared into the camp fire. Sylvie had been looking forward to seeing Dorian and had welcomed the constant chatter and laughter after such a difficult day. However, she found there was something almost _better_ about sitting with Cullen and just simply _being_.

Without really thinking about it, Sylvie rested her head on Cullen's shoulder like she had been with Dorian. She felt him tense initially at the contact and was about to move away when his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Sylvie held back the contented sigh that was trying to escape from her.

“How are you feeling?” Cullen eventually asked, his voice low. “Cassandra informed me that you were injured _and_ unconscious after sealing The Breach.”

“I wasn't out for long,” Sylvie replied, “and Solas had popped my shoulder back into it's socket before I'd even woken up. I'm just so tired.” As if to punctuate the point, Sylvie yawned before she could stop herself. She felt Cullen's chuckle reverberate through her own body.

“I can see that.” He said lightly. “I am certain you could return to your cabin without being missed. Every one would understand that you require rest.” Sylvie shook her head as best she could with it resting on Cullen's shoulder.

“I like watching them celebrate.” She said quietly. Cullen's fingers wrapped around her shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“ _You_ made that possible.” He told her. “You succeeded ...as I said you would.” Sylvie chuckled.

“Yes, it seemed like the only person who thought I was going to die was me.” She said casually and she felt Cullen tense a little.

“It was ...not possible for me to even consider that...” Cullen said. His voice was so quiet that Sylvie felt like she was straining to hear him. “When I saw the magic reaching up towards The Breach I was ...terrified.” He admitted. Sylvie tilted her head to look at him. He was frowning into the flames, expression serious.

“Terrified?” Sylvie repeated. Cullen steadfastly kept his gaze forwards.

“I found it hard to believe that someone could survive such a thing and yet ...here you sit.” He squeezed at her shoulder again and Sylvie lay her head back down.

“Here I sit.” Sylvie confirmed. “I rather enjoy it ...the sitting, not The Breach closing.” She added. “If someone had told you a few months ago that you would be sitting by a fire with your arm around a mage, what would you have said?” Cullen snorted.

“Probably the same thing you would have said if someone told you that you would be in the arms of a former Templar.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“You'd have told them to go bugger themselves?” Sylvie quipped, eliciting a chuckle from Cullen.

“Not ...exactly. I clearly don't have your way with words.” He teased before his voice took on it's usual serious tone. “You once said you disliked me purely on principle …there was a time when I would have said the same of you. My opinion of mages was once overshadowed by my own experiences. I am ...thankful that time has changed that.”

“Me too.” Sylvie replied softly. Given the rumours she had heard of what happened to Cullen in Fereldan's Circle and what she knew of Kirkwall, it was a true testament to his character that he had managed to alter his opinion at all. Cullen cleared his throat.

“There was something I was hoping to discuss with you.” He said. Sylvie's stomach tightened, heart doing some kind of backflip in her chest.

“Ask away.” She replied, pleased she had kept her voice stable.

“Now The Breach is sealed ...what are your plans? Are you staying here in Haven?” His questions were hesitant and Sylvie wondered if they were actually what he had wanted to ask.

“There is still a lot to do,” she replied, “closing The Breach may not have sealed any remaining rifts and there is still the mystery of who blew up the Conclave. The Circles are all gone and I barely know my family...” Sylvie trailed off as the reality of her situation struck her. “I don't have any where else to go...” It was an unpleasant sensation- realising that she suddenly didn't belong anywhere.

“So you're staying, then?” Cullen asked, his cheek lifting from where it was resting against her hair. Sylvie could hear the hopefulness in his voice and it warmed her all the way down to her toes. She chuckled despite her passing sorrow.

“It would seem so.” She raised her head from Cullen's shoulder and met his gaze, mirroring the small smile that was tugging at his lips. “I didn't have a great deal of choice in being here before. Will the Inquisition accept my formal, _voluntary_ , enlistment into it's forces, Commander?” She asked with a grin. Cullen nodded, clearly struggling to keep his Commander face on.

“Sylvie Trevelyan, as Commander of The Inquisition I officially accept your enlistment.” He replied, saluting her as best he could with one arm still around her shoulders. Sylvie laughed, thoroughly amused by this more playful side of Cullen. She secretly hoped it was _her_ influence. Cullen opened his mouth to say something else when a call of 'Commander!' interrupted him. Sylvie rolled her eyes at him.

“Do you _ever_ get a few minutes to yourself?” Sylvie hissed as Cullen removed his arm from around her shoulders. He chuckled lightly.

“Never.” He replied quickly, focus turning from Sylvie to the soldier who had interrupted them. She had half a mind to set the man's boots aflame and innocently claim that he must have stepped too close to the camp fire. The soldier stopped and saluted to them both before addressing Cullen.

“Commander, there is a watchguard at the gates asking to speak with you. He says it's urgent but won't give anyone else the message.” The soldier scowled and folded his arms, leaving no mystery as to what he thought of _that._ Sylvie heard Cullen sigh before he responded.

“Very well, tell him I am on my way.” The soldier saluted and ran off, leaving behind a frustrated Commander and scowling Herald.

“Do you think something is wrong?” Sylvie asked, readying herself to stand up.

“I'm sure it's nothing.” Cullen replied, he looked round and noticed Sylvie sitting forward. “You can stay here if you prefer, I should be back shortly ...I mean, assuming you want to wait for me...” Sylvie smiled and leaned back again.

“I will wait.” She told him. Cullen nodded and stood up, he seemed stuck in some internal debate as he half-turned away and half faced her. He had leant down and pressed his lips to the top of her head before Sylvie even realised he had done it. Cullen smiled again and then hurried away, leaving Sylvie staring dazedly after him ...or possibly gooey eyed based on what Dorian had told her.

She sighed, looking down at what she could see of the revellers. People were still dancing and drinking and laughing, the sight making Sylvie feel proud that _she_ had been instrumental in making it possible. If _this_ was part of being The Herald of Andraste then perhaps it wasn't so bad after all.

And then the bells began to toll.

 

 


	15. The Battle For Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got really long so a massive thanks to everyone who doesn't see the word count and run away screaming! As always, thanks to everyone who is reading/subbing/commenting/leaving kudos. A third thanks to my beta, the fabulous Gabtinha, without whom there was no sparkle. Some warnings apply in this chapter for violence and substantial bad language.

Everything looked to be going in their favour- even with such a short warning about the advancing forces the Inquisition had managed to stem the tide of Templars and twisted monstrosities that were descending on Haven. Cullen had fought side by side with the soldiers on the front line, trying desperately to block out the song of the corrupted lyrium that was sprouting from their enemies. When one of the corrupted Templars had gotten close to him, it had been difficult to ignore, bile rising in the back of his throat every time one came near enough. What in the Maker's name had _happened_ to them? These ... _things_ had been his brothers and sisters once and to see them like this was more painful that Cullen would have ever imagined.

Cullen had pushed onwards through gritted teeth, just as he always had. His head was pounding, sweat pouring down his face and he was wondering just how much longer he could keep this up when he heard the familiar twang of trebuchet fire. His current opponent heard it too and Cullen made use of the distraction, thrusting his sword through the corrupted Templars neck. As he had with his other kills, Cullen sent up a brief prayer to the Maker to judge the fallen man justly.

He looked up in time to see the last of the avalanche snuff out the torches being carried by the enemy. A ragged cheer went up around him, many of the soldiers shouting for The Herald. Sylvie and her companions had immediately darted towards the southern trebuchet when word reached them that it had been taken. Not only had they regained control of it, someone in Sylvie's party had the presence of mind to use it against the enemy, burying them under the snow. If Cullen had to guess, it was probably The Iron Bulls doing- Sylvie had probably set everyone on fire and assumed it was job done.

Cullen swung his shield onto his back, wiping the sweat from his forehead. In the confusion, he had not had time to grab his helmet from his tent and the blood on his glove when he looked down indicated the folly of that mistake. He took off his glove to get a proper feel of the wound. It was shallow, running from his ear almost to his mouth. While it _did_ seem to be bleeding rather profusely, Cullen didn't imagine that it would be another scar to add to his collection.

An ear piercing screech broke through the air, scattering what few of the twisted Templars remained. Every member of the Inquisition's forces stared towards the source of the sound and Cullen spun to face the mountains, just in time to see the first fireball strike the ground. It exploded close to the trebuchet that had just fired, debris flying into the air.

“Sylvie...” Cullen heard himself whisper, momentarily frozen into inaction while his stomach twisted at the thought of her caught up in the blast. The sight of the _dragon_ descending upon Haven spurred him back into motion. “Fall back!” He cried over the noise. No one was listening so Cullen darted up the stairs towards the gate to get a better vantage point. “ **Fall back**!” He boomed again. It worked this time, soldiers and mages alike running up and through the gates.

“Everyone back to the Chantry! It's the only place that might hold against that ... _beast_.”

Surely their enemies couldn't have a dragon under their command? Perhaps it had been attracted by the sounds of the battle. The beast flew directly overhead and Cullen craned his face upwards. The down-draft from it's wings caused the smell of decay to waft over Cullen and he caught a glimpse of the dead, rotting flesh of the dragon's underbelly. It couldn't be ...not an Archdemon ...not now...

Cullen was distracted by the sounds of shouts from along the path, breathing a small sigh of relief when he saw Sylvie and her companions rushing towards him. As they drew closed, Cullen could see that Sylvie's gait was awkward, favouring her right leg, and while she _was_ running, she seemed to be leaning quite heavily on Dorian's shoulder. They came rushing right past him, not even sparing him a glance and Cullen pulled the wooden gates shut.

“Take this would you, Commander?” Dorian said breathlessly behind him. Cullen turned, finding Sylvie near enough dumped into his arms as Dorian dropped himself down onto the steps to catch his breath. Cullen sat Sylvie gently down on the wall. The right side of her leggings was torn, pale skin beneath them grazed and dirty. Blood was trickling down the side of her face and neck from a wound on her temple that was obscured by her hair. While Sylvie's face appeared ashen and exhausted, there was a ferocious glint in her eyes that Cullen had never seen before. Cullen was about to inquire if she was alright when Sylvie spoke, brows knitted together in a scowl.

“Did everyone else see the fucking dragon that looks suspiciously like an Archdemon?” She asked, pressing a hand roughly to her injured temple. Cullen watched as she turned her head to the side and spat out a glob of blood in the most unladylike of fashions. He wondered how she had gotten quite so injured.

“I saw an Archdemon once.” The newcomer, Cole- Cullen remembered, declared as he appeared by Sylvie's side. “It was in the fade but it looked like that.” Sylvie threw her hands in the air.

“Great!” She snapped. “Are we to fight a fucking _Blight_ now as well?” Sylvie rubbed at her forehead, mindlessly smearing the blood that was all over her hand. “Someone give me a plan.”

“Everyone has retreated to the Chantry.” Cullen said. “It might give us a moments respite to...” Cullen's words were cut off by the sound of a fence crashing down and the battle cries of enemies coming from the direction of the tavern.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Sylvie shouted. Cullen watched as she pushed herself off the wall and began to stomp in the direction of the noise. She turned back to face them all, staff in one hand and flames already dancing on the other. “Dorian! Bull! With me. Blackwall- go with the Commander and Cole. We'll circle round and meet you at the Chantry. Save anyone you can.” There was a moment where no one seemed to move. Sylvie shot a blast of fire at the ground in frustration and they all jumped back in unison. “ _Now_!” She stormed off, already casting spells as Bull, remarkably cheerfully, shouted “Yes ma'am!” and ran after her. Dorian simply sighed and pushed himself to his feet before following them. Cullen watched them disappear around the corner before moving. He had drill instructors in Templar training that had seemed less fierce ...probably because there was no risk of them setting you ablaze.

He made his way up the first lot of stairs, the sounds of fighting and shouting all around him. His forces weren't going to go down without a fight- a thought that made Cullen immensely proud of what they'd managed to achieve in such a relatively short space of time. Cole stopped suddenly, darting towards the door of a burning cabin. Cullen was about to yell at him to keep moving when the young man spoke.

“Singeing, burning ...why doesn't anyone come when I shout? Maker have mercy, don't leave me like this ...voice cracks, throat raw ...it's so hot...” Cullen frowned as he tried to decipher the cryptic outburst. Cole turned to face him, the rim of his hat flopping absurdly given the situation. “We have to help.”

Cullen was about to ask who they were meant to help when Blackwall stepped around them both, lifting a leg and kicking at the door handle. It splintered and swung open. The Warden didn't hesitate before he rushed inside. He appeared moments later, Seggrit leaning on him heavily.

“How did you know he was in there?” Cullen asked, rounding back on Cole who took a startled step backwards.

“I heard him.” Cole replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Cullen frowned but didn't press the issue, hopefully there would be time later to find out who (or what) this strange young man was. He would trust Cole for now, simply because there were no other choices. Maker only knew that they needed all the help they could get.

The small party ascended the stairs towards the Chantry and were greeted by the sight of the Quartermaster, Threnn, trying to fend off two of the corrupted Templars with more making their way down through the trees. Blackwall helped Seggrit to conceal himself behind a pile of rubble. It wasn't ideal but Cullen hoped it would be enough to keep the man safe for a time. Blackwall gave Cullen a brief nod, both men readying their shields and swords before they each bellowed a challenge as they ran forwards.

The first Templar reacted too slowly, Cullen's shield connecting with his nose with a sickening crunch. He pressed his advantage, swinging his sword low to catch the man on his unprotected thigh. Blood gushed from the wound and the Templar went down with a cry, quickly silenced by Cullen's sword through his throat- another former brother cut down. Cullen looked up to see another corrupted warrior dashing towards him. Cullen hefted his shield forwards to block the incoming blow but the man stopped suddenly, looking down in confusion before toppling forwards in a heap. Cole was briefly visible, bloody daggers in hand and Cullen was quietly impressed by the young man's skill. He tilted his head as if someone were calling to him and faded back into stealth. Blackwall had just dispatched of the last enemy before he shouted “There!” and pointed behind Cullen. He spun around, expecting to see Sylvie but was instead met with the sight of three more Templars barrelling towards them. Following, more slowly, behind them was one of the towering, crystallised _creatures_ like Cullen had seen earlier. It looked like a chunk of red lyrium brought to life and even from where Cullen was standing he could hear the twisted song drifting from it. A sudden wall of fire erupted between Cullen and the advancing Templars, conveniently giving him something else to focus on besides the corrupted lyrium thrum. For the briefest second, Cullen looked to the sky, expecting to see the Archdemon overhead.

“Hey, assholes!”

Cullen heard Bull's voice over the roaring of the flames and finally spotted their source. Sylvie was standing atop a crate, fireballs flying in various directions at multiple targets. The Behemoth and one of the Templars peeled off in Bull's direction. The other two ploughed heedlessly into the wall of flames, only retreating backwards in a panic as they realised they were burning. The flames dissipated, giving Cullen and Blackwall the opportunity the charge into the fray. The two Templars who had run into the fire were lying scorched on the ground and the Behemoth crashed to the ground after a well-placed smash from Bull's maul. Cullen watched as the final Templar sparked with purple lightening, going rigid before being thrown backwards by a fiery explosion. Unsurprisingly, he didn't get back up.

“More coming.” Blackwall called out.

Cullen spotted two Templars, swords raised, running up the path and, with a quick look over his shoulder, saw another four coming out of the trees on the other side of the Chantry. Cullen clenched his jaw and readied his shield once more; there was no end to them. He realised with growing dread that the entirety of what was left of the Order must be pouring into Haven. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Sylvie leap down from the crate she was standing on and dart around him and Blackwall right into the path of the oncoming Templars. Maker! What was she doing? He was about to call after her when Blackwall audibly sighed beside him.

“She does this all the time.” He said wearily before running after her. Cullen stared after him, momentarily stunned. Did Sylvie's warrior companions think it acceptable to let a lightly armoured mage get in front of them in battle? They were there to act as her _defence_ , not a back-up plan for when someone got too close. When Sylvie had first been out in the field, Cassandra had reported that she had stayed well back from the fighting, casting at a distance, so at what point in the last few months had this inexperienced Circle mage turrned into battle-crazed Berserker? He had heard Sylvie's companions say that she could be rash and impulsive but this was _not_ what Cullen thought they meant. Forcing himself back into the moment, Cullen ran forwards, shouting a challenge to distract the Templar who was closing in on Sylvie. It didn't work. The Templar was mindlessly focussed on his intended target and Sylvie _still_ wasn't backing away and Cullen knew he wouldn't reach her in time.

Cullen saw Sylvie raise her staff with both hands, holding it across her body to block the Templar's blow. She stumbled backwards a few steps under the force of the swing but kept herself standing. Cullen absently wondered what in Thedas her staff was made of that it hadn't simply broken in two. She spotted Cullen coming towards them and angled herself so that when she pushed the Templar back he fell straight into Cullen's path. Cullen turned his sword to strike the Templar on the side of the head with the pommel. The man reeled to the side, swinging his sword blindly.

“Get back!” Cullen shouted at Sylvie. She looked startled for a second at the fierceness of his tone and Cullen thought that she was going to ignore him. Luckily, she did what he asked, taking several steps backwards in order to start casting spells.

The Templar Cullen had struck was beginning to recover but fell to the ground screaming as he was engulfed in flames, armour glowing from the heat. Blackwall had dispatched of one Templars and was engaging with another one. Cullen looked around quickly to get a fix on Sylvie but she was gone again. Cullen heard her before he saw her as she shouted Dorian's name. Dorian was standing a good distance from Bull, exactly where Cullen would have expected a mage to stand during battle, but he was so focussed on casting spells that he was unaware of the Templar coming up behind him. Sylvie, on the other hand, _had_ noticed the threat heading towards her friend and made it to Dorian just as the Templar was swinging his shield. Cullen watched in horror as, instead of casting a spell, Sylvie simply lowered her head and ran, shoulder first, into the Templar. To Cullen's surprise, the Templar actually went down, dropping his shield as he went, and Sylvie raised her hand in preparation to douse the man in flames.

Cullen never saw the spell cast. A blinding pain shot across the back of his head, eyes watering as he dropped to one knee. His distraction at keeping an eye on Sylvie had let a Templar come up behind him, striking him on the head. Cullen felt a foot on his back kicking him forwards. He managed to twist his body round, using his shield to knock his opponents feet out from under him. Cullen landed on his back, the Templar landing heavily on top of him. The Templar had dropped his sword in the struggle and, while Cullen still had his in his hand, the other man's knee on his forearm made it impossible to use it. In such close proximity, Cullen could see the red veins of corruption spreading up the Templars neck, the man's eyes red and crazed. The Templar aimed a fist at Cullen's face but he managed to tilt his head enough to avoid the punch.

“ **Cullen!** ”

He heard Sylvie shout, followed by what sounded like Blackwall calling after her. Cullen wanted to yell to her not to come over, not to put herself in any more danger for him but cold fingers wrapped around his throat and he only managed to suck in a short breath before they began to squeeze. In an instant the hand was gone, an iron fronted boot connecting with the Templars face. Cullen drew in a deep, choking breath as he looked up at Sylvie but her gaze was focussed on the Templar who was now lying on his back on the ground. Cullen could see the dangerous glint in Sylvie's eyes as she stepped over him and stood over the Templar.

He was scrabbling around blindly for his sword and Cullen actually felt himself wince as Sylvie rammed the blade of her staff through the man's wrist, pinning it to the ground. Blood spurted from the wound and the Templar _howled_ in pain. Cullen kept his eyes on Sylvie, noting with concern how blank her expression was and Cullen realised that she wasn't seeing a person in front of her. She wasn't seeing the man this Templar had once been or the family that he would surely be leaving behind- he was just another body to her. The thought of her becoming someone like that chilled Cullen down to his bones, he _couldn't_ let her become like that. Sylvie stood still, watching the man for a few more seconds before she raised her free hand and shot a ball of fire directly at the Templars face. The others were beside them then, Blackwall offering a hand down to help Cullen to his feet. Cullen took the hand, riding out the wave of dizziness that swept over him as he stood up before rounding on Sylvie.

“What were you thinking?” He asked, more angrily than he had intended. Sylvie looked up from where she was dispassionately wiping the blade of her staff on her cloak. She frowned at him as he continued. “You are a mage wearing nothing more than robes and leather, you can't just run into battle like a warrior in full plate. Maker's breath, Sylvie, you'll get yourself killed!” She sheathed her staff on her back and glared at him.

“Very well. Next time I will just let you get strangled to death.” She snapped back. Cullen took a step towards her, lowering his voice.

“That's not what I meant. I just …you need to be more careful.” Cullen said. Sylvie opened her mouth to respond but a screech overhead cut her off. The Archdemon flew over them and Sylvie looked skywards to watch it pass.

“I don't think my being careful is really going to matter for much longer.” She mumbled and turned towards the Chantry. Cullen couldn't find an encouraging response to her words so followed after her silently. Sylvie turned to Dorian as they stepped over the threshold.

“Go check if everyone from the mage camp made it here safe.” She said to him and Dorian nodded, hurrying off without so much as smart remark. Dorian probably realised, like Cullen had, that if Sylvie didn't get a quick answer she would be straight back out the door looking for survivors. As Cullen turned to close over the doors, he spotted Cole coming towards him, half dragging a gravely injured Chancellor Rodrick.

“He tried to stop a Templar.” Cole said as he brought Rodrick inside. “The blade went deep- he's going to die.” Cullen slammed the heavy doors shut, hearing Rodrick groan as Cole sat him down on a chair.

“What a ...charming boy.” Rodrick replied breathlessly. Cullen felt a pang of guilt for all the times he had wanted to punch the Chancellor in the face. The man was going to die after actually trying to _help_ the Inquisition despite having been so fervently against it.

Sylvie appeared beside them, shifting most of her weight from her injured right leg as she stood with her arms folded and looked to Cullen. She still had the emotionless expression on her face that she had outside but there was something else there too, a look in her eyes that Cullen had seen far too many times- battle lust. It was like a fever that spread rapidly through many fighters. She was fidgeting with the scorched sleeve of her tunic, shoulders tense as if prepared to fend off an attack at any second. Cullen briefly placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to ground her. She flinched slightly before relaxing, some of the wariness going out of her expression. Sylvie reached up to touch the cut on his cheek, fingers drifting down his neck to where the Templar had tried to choke him. Cullen held back the shiver that threatened to rack his whole body under her touch.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly. Cullen nodded as she pulled her hand away.

“The wound isn't deep ...and you intervened before any damage came to my throat.” He took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” Sylvie frowned at him.

“You mean the Archdemon?” She hissed. “You saw it, Cullen ...you saw what it looked like.”

“I don't care what it looks like!” Cullen snapped, instantly regretting his tone when he saw Sylvie's face darken. “It has cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven!”

“The Elder One doesn't care about the village.” Cole said from where he was crouched beside Rodrick. “He only wants The Herald.” Sylvie turned to Cole, green eyes glinting with frustration.

“If you know why he wants me, just say it.” She said through gritted teeth.

“I don't. He's too loud. It hurts to hear him.” Cole replied softly. “He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he'll crush them, kill them anyway. I don't like him.” Cullen stared at the young man incredulously.

“You don't like...?” Cullen shook his head at the ridiculous understatement and turned to face Sylvie. “There are no tactics to make this survivable.” He quickly racked his brain for an option and found only one. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.” Sylvie's eyes went wide, her arms dropping to her side as she stared back at him like he had gone insane.

“We're overrun. To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven.” She was searching his face as if looking for something she had missed- something in the plan that didn't mean certain death for them all. Cullen wanted nothing more than to give her what she needed but the situation had gone beyond hopeless.

“We're dying, but we can decide how...” Cullen clenched his fists by his sides, resisting the urge to pull Sylvie into his arms. “Many don't get that choice.” There was a long silence between them. Cullen watched as Sylvie's full thought process played out on her expression. She flitted quickly between anger at his words, frustration and confusion before her eyes finally met his again. Her face was still angry but there was a resigned sadness in her eyes.

“Yes, that.” Cole said beside them and they both turned to face him. “Chancellor Rodrick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Cullen stood next to Sylvie, their shoulders brushing and hands within touching distance as they listened to Rodrick tell them of a hidden path, one that would allow people to escape into the mountains and, perhaps, to safety. It was a sound plan as far as Cullen was concerned but one that would require a distraction to buy them enough time. The only option they had was sending out the person that this Elder One had come for- they would never be left alone otherwise. Cullen chanced a look at Sylvie and felt his whole body tense as she frowned, digesting the information. She turned to Cullen, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“What about it, Cullen?” She asked, voice low. “Will it work?”

“Possibly.” He replied. “ _If_ he shows us the path...” He couldn't finish his thought- couldn't be the one to say she had to go back out there to die. Sylvie looked away, focussing back on the Chancellor.

“Go now.” She said to him firmly. “Get everyone out.” Cole helped the Chancellor from his seat, putting the injured man's arm around his shoulder to help him walk. Cullen turned to soldiers nearby.

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Rodrick through the Chantry! Move!” The soldiers hurried to obey, hastily moving the people who were still in the hall. Behind him, Cullen heard the Chancellor speaking to Sylvie.

“Herald ...if you are meant for this, it the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.” He told her as he and Cole slowly walked away to the back of the Chantry. Sylvie nodded to him, turning back to Cullen as he stepped up beside her.

“What of your escape?” Cullen asked softly. To his surprise, Sylvie laughed. It was a bitter laugh, short and sharp as it echoed off the walls of the Chantry.

“I'm going to go out there and drop a mountain on myself and you want to ask about my _escape_?” She said angrily. Cullen kept his voice even, trying not to react to her anger.

“Perhaps you will surprise it ...find a way...” He said. Sylvie's expression instantly softened, her rage and frustration disappearing in an instant.

“I'm not quite sure how to surprise an Archdemon.” Sylvie said quietly. She frowned and looked away. “I already managed to not die once today, I'm probably all out of luck.” When she looked up again her expression was angry once more. She was about to say something when hurried footsteps echoed around the hall. They both turned in unison as they heard Dorian's voice.

“So, I went to check on your precious tiny mages, who are fine- by the way.” Dorian began. “You can imagine my delight when the soldiers came running in to usher us all down some secret path to safety. But wait!” He said, waving hand and standing almost toe-to-toe with Sylvie. “Where is The Herald? Oh! I see, she's staying behind alone to distract a sodding _Archdemon_ before burying herself in an avalanche. No, I thought! Surely Sylvie wouldn't go out to _kill herself_ without letting me know.” He folded his arms and glared at her. Cullen watched as she mirrored Dorian's posture and glared right back.

“Do you have a better idea?” She snapped. She looked over Dorian's shoulder and Cullen looked around to see what had distracted her. Bull and Blackwall had clearly followed Dorian into the hall.

“Of course I have a better idea.” Dorian replied. “You won't last two seconds out there alone, especially not without my talents, so I'm coming too.”

“No, you're not.” Sylvie said plainly.

“I am.” was Dorian's firm reply. Cullen wanted to point out that Dorian was right- Sylvie would be cut down before she could reach the trebuchet- but the expression on her face made him hesitate about getting involved. He would _not_ let one of their, potentially, last conversations be words said in anger.

“I will not ask _anyone_ to come out there and die with me.” She near-shouted at him. Dorian didn't so much as flinch.

“You're not _asking_ me to come with you, I'm _telling_ you that I'm coming.” He waved a hand behind him in the direction of Bull and Blackwall. “And these two will _tell_ you the same thing.” Sylvie took a step closer to Dorian, bringing her face so close to his that their noses were almost touching.

“No!” She growled. In that moment, Dorian was a much braver man than Cullen. _He_ would have taken at least five steps backwards if that tone of voice had been directed at him.

“Shut up!” Dorian shouted. Cullen heard everyone in room suck in a collective breath.

“Two silvers says she burns his moustache off.” Bull whispered. If it situation hadn't been so dire, Cullen would have laughed at the matching glares that both mages shot in the Qunari's direction.

“We are going with you whether you like it or not.” Dorian said, eventually turning back to Sylvie. “Feel free to stand and debate it further, of course. It's not like there is a dragon flapping around outside.”

“Fine!” Sylvie snapped. “If you're all so happy to die then let's get this fucking over with.” She turned on her heel and stormed to the door. Cullen felt his whole body go cold as he watched Sylvie grab the door handle.

This was it, then. There wasn't much of a question about her return from this- not like there had been when she closed The Breach. Cullen had, for a few precious hours, let himself believe that everything was going to be all right and now it was all collapsing around him.

Dorian, Bull and Blackwall had joined Sylvie at the door. She looked over her shoulder as Cullen walked towards them. He saw Dorian give the other two men a nod and they moved away, just far enough to at least give Cullen and Sylvie the illusion of privacy.

“You _could_ still survive this...” Cullen said softly. Sylvie turned to face him.

“You can't really believe that, Cullen.” She replied. Cullen looked away, unable to answer and Sylvie gave a small chuckle. “I thought as much.” He jerked a little in surprise as he felt Sylvie touch his cheek. Cullen looked up to meet her eyes, taking her hand in his. He pulled Sylvie into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck as he buried his face in her hair.

“I think it's time for that goodbye I didn't say when I went to close The Breach...” Sylvie whispered. Reflexively, Cullen squeezed her tighter.

“No...” He whispered back. “No goodbyes.”

The Archdemon screeched overhead and Cullen felt Sylvie sigh against his neck. She extracted herself from his arms with some difficulty- Cullen couldn't quite find the muscle memory to loosen his grip. If it were up to him he would have never let her go.

“That's my exit cue.” She said grimly, going back to the door. When her party were in position beside her, Sylvie pushed the door open slightly.

“Sylvie!” Cullen called. “If we are to have a chance ...if _you_ are to have a chance- let that thing hear you.” She nodded to him before slipping out the door. It closed behind them with a soft thud, leaving Cullen to turn and make his way to the hidden escape route alone. He found Cassandra waiting for him, from the emptiness around them they were clearly the last ones left.

“Is she gone?” Cassandra asked. Cullen nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet. The Seeker's jaw tightened. “She has surprised us before, she may do it yet again.” Cullen rubbed at his forehead as they descended down a flight of stairs.

“Maker, I pray that you are right.”

\- - -

It hadn't taken as long as Cullen thought it would for him and Cassandra to make their way along the hidden path. They caught up with the rest of stragglers at the snow line on the mountain. The wind was biting on Cullen's face, flakes of snow beginning to drift down from the pitch black sky. They spotted Leliana standing on rise, looking down at Haven.

“We are setting up a camp down in that valley.” She said without looking at them, pointing in the direction that everyone was heading. Cullen and Cassandra both moved to stand beside her. Cassandra sucked in a breath as she looked down at the scene unfolding down in Haven. There was fire every where and the Archdemon had landed next to one of the trebuchets and seemed to be circling something ...or someone. They were too far away to see but Cullen had a painful feeling in the pit of his stomach about just _who_ the beast was focussed on.

“We should send up the signal.” Leliana said, taking her bow off her back. Without thinking, Cullen reached out a hand to stop her. She frowned at him.

“Not yet.” He said. Her frown softened, face growing sympathetic.

“If we wait any longer, Sylvie's sacrifice will have been for nothing.” She took a step away from Cullen, reaching around her back to grab an arrow. Cullen knew she was right, as much as he didn't want her to be. He turned his gaze back down the mountain to Haven. Leliana notched her arrow and was about to lean it into the flame of a torch that was planted in the snow when they all heard shouting coming from the direction of the escape route.

“Let go of me you brute!”

Cullen felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of Dorian's voice. They had made it after all. He saw Blackwall first, the Wardens grim expression dousing the flicker of hope in Cullen's chest. Bull appeared next, one huge arm wrapped around Dorian's chest as he dragged the mage, literally, kicking and screaming up the mountain. Dorian eventually managed to wriggle free, slapping a palm uselessly against Bull's chest as he spun to face the Qunari.

“You just left her there!” Dorian shouted over the wind. “An Archdemon landed right in front of her and you both just fucking left her!”

“She ordered us to go.” Blackwall said quietly to Cullen in explanation. Cullen understood Dorian's frustration, no matter what Sylvie had said to him, he never could have found the strength to leave her behind. Blackwall made his way to Dorian and tried to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder but the mage jerked away, storming as best he could through the snow to stand next to Cullen. Dorian stared down at Haven, there was blood pulsing slowly from a cut across his forehead and his face was dirty and smudged with soot.

“ _You_ should send up the signal.” Bull declared as he too came up to the rise and surveyed the scene before them.

“ _Me_ ?” Dorian shouted incredulously. “You drag me away from Sylvie and now you're saying that _I_ should be the one to sign her death warrant?” Cullen picked up on what Bull meant right away and spoke up.

“Dorian,” he began softly, “if it's one of your spells that Sylvie sees go up as the signal...” From the way that Dorian's shoulders sagged, Cullen knew that he had also realised what they were implying.

“Then she'll know we made it...” Dorian said quietly, hanging his head. Without another word, he stepped almost to the edge of the cliff and took his staff from his back. Cullen watched, stomach in knots, as Dorian pointed the staff upwards and whispered something that sounded significantly like an apology before shooting a stream of lightening bolts into the air.

For what seemed like an eternity nothing happened. Then Cullen saw the trebuchet fire and a resounding crash broke through the air as the side of the mountain collapsed. It did as they had intended, burying Haven under a pile of snow and rock. The Archdemon roared, taking off swiftly and disappearing into the distance. Eventually, everything went quiet, the wind and the rustling of trees the only sound on the mountain top. It was over.

Wordlessly, Leliana and Cassandra turned away and made their way down into the valley, followed closely by Blackwall. Cullen saw Dorian turn away, walking in the opposite direction from everyone else and disappearing behind a crop of trees. Bull went to call after him but Cullen shook his head, finally managing to find his voice.

“I will wait for him.” Cullen said, his voice cracking. Bull took one look at him and Cullen knew his grief must have been written all over his face because the Qunari simply nodded once and turned away. Cullen turned back around and stared down at Haven, praying for any sign of movement in the buried village but in his heart he knew it was futile. Sylvie was gone and with her went the insane hope Cullen had let himself have of their future.

Over the sound of the wind, Cullen eventually heard a muffled sob coming from the trees.

 


	16. The Night That Never Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a cheeky little POV shift about half way through to Dorian. I cannot describe how much fun it was to write from his perspective!

Cullen wasn't sure how long he had been standing out in the snow- this night seemed never-ending and dawn still looked to be no where on the horizon. He had joined the rest of the Inquisition in the valley long enough to help establish their make shift camp and _order_ Dorian to see one of the healers. The mage had been completely silent after he emerged from where he had hidden in the trees. Cullen didn't think Dorian actually _needed_ to say anything- his red rimmed eyes and the streaks of skin showing through the dirt on his face face told the story well enough. Once everyone appeared to be as settled as they were going to get, Cullen trudged halfway back up the hill to watch for any sign of stragglers making the trek from Haven. As time ticked by, Cullen knew that waiting was fruitless but, Maker preserve him, he wasn't ready to give up on Sylvie yet.

Short, shuffling footsteps through the snow behind him heralded Varric's arrival, the dwarf coming to stand beside him and stare up in the same direction.

“I heard that you folks in charge have been debating sending down a search party in the morning.” Varric said. Cullen nodded but didn't actually look at him.

“Nothing has been formally decided yet.” Cullen replied. It had, in fact, dissolved into an argument that no one had actually won yet. With emotions and tempers running so hot from grief and exhaustion, it had seemed prudent to cease the discussion until more level heads were on their shoulders. Beside him, Varric laughed.

“Formal or not, I'd like to see the person who tries to stop us. Tiny and I would go now if we didn't know it was a bad idea to wander through a snow storm in the dark and I would be surprised if Sparkler hasn't _already_ snuck off down the mountain.” Varric told him.

“I will be coming as well.” Cullen declared, folding his arms. Varric let out a low whistle.

“Times really _do_ get crazy when Cullen Rutherford is threatening to defy a leadership decision.” Varric tried to joke. Cullen clenched his jaw and kept his gaze forwards. He could _feel_ Varric staring up at him. “Aw shit, Curly ...you fell for her.” Cullen eventually looked at Varric, his brows pulled together in a frown.

“I hardly think...” Cullen trailed off. Varric wasn't actually asking him a question, it was simply an observation. If it was so clearly written all over his expression then there was no point in debating it. He shook his head and sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Did you forget that I write about this kind of stuff for a living...” Varric frowned. “Well ...not _this_ stuff, I guess. I usually prefer my stories to end a bit more...”

“Happily?” Cullen offered, his voice flat. Varric sighed.

“Yeah ...that. And by Andraste's flaming ass, if _anyone_ should have gotten a good end to their story it was you, Curly.” Varric shook his head before continuing. “You know, after Kirkwall I thought I was done getting involved in the world's bullshit and seeing good people die.” He declared bitterly. Cullen looked round at him.

“It never stops.” He frowned and looked back up the hill, voice quiet. “It never will.” Beside him, Varric groaned.

“Great morale boost, Commander.” He replied sarcastically. “On that cheerful note, I'll say my goodbyes.” Varric turned to leave and called back over his shoulder. “Try not to freeze out here.” With that parting thought, Cullen listened to the dwarf trudge back down to the camp.

He mulled over Varric's words. Had his life of trials combined with the violence and hardship he had witnessed really made him entitled to even just a _slice_ of happiness? Perhaps on some subconscious level he actually thought that as well, and _that_ was why he had come to the conclusion that he was allowed to pursue a romantic involvement with Sylvie. Cullen closed his eyes tight and hung his head. Even the sound of her name in his mind was like knives piercing through his chest. He could only pray that, for as long as he had left in this world, he would remember how it felt to have her in his arms on those few occasions. Already, Cullen thought that he might be forgetting things- the smell of her hair, the glint in her eyes when she made fun of him ...would it have made things better or worse if he had kissed her just once before she left the Chantry? He supposed it didn't really matter now.

“Commander?”

Cullen's head shot up at the sound of Cassandra's voice and, for a brief second, he thought he may have fallen asleep on his feet. Cassandra came up beside him, folding her arms against the cold of the wind.

“It has _finally_ been decided.” She said. “A party will go to Haven at first light to search for any sign of The Herald.” Cullen looked round and raised an eyebrow.

“Was it decided? Or did you eventually just declare that it was happening?” He asked. Cassandra scowled up at the crest of the hill.

“The latter.” She replied plainly before sighing. “The people will need ...closure. _We_ will need closure.” Cullen swallowed heavily.

“I intend to join you. I would prefer to be there when...” He drifted off, mind assaulted by images of Sylvie lying broken and bruised, covered in snow with her pale skin blue from exposure to the cold. The image twisted at his stomach, nausea washing over him. He sucked in a deep breath, forcing his frozen lungs back into action as he wondered if the grief would always feel like this. He had lost people in his life before ...but none like _her_. Cassandra placed a hand on his arm, the touch bringing Cullen back to himself.

“You should rest, Cullen.” She said gently, addressing him now as a friend and not a colleague. “I will stand watch, just in case.” Cullen wanted to protest but he _was_ exhausted. His sleep the previous night had been cut short by nightmares and the emotions and fighting of the last few hours would eventually take their toll.

“I suppose I would be of little use if I were to collapse in the snow.” He replied, trying and failing to force a self-deprecating smile. Cassandra inclined her head in agreement and Cullen turned away. He took a few moments to steel himself, fists clenched at his sides. Walking away felt so much like giving up hope ...like giving up Sylvie...

“Cullen...” Cassandra called, almost hesitantly, after him. He sighed and turned back around.

“What is...” He trailed off when he noticed that Cassandra had taken a few steps _up_ the hill. She was squinting against the wind, her hand instinctively went to her sword and Cullen's did the same, gripping the pommel tightly. If they had been found then it was truly over.

Cullen took a few more steps, moving in front of Cassandra to try to see what she had spotted. His stomach lurched into his throat at the sight of lone figure staggering over the crest of the hill. Maker, please. Maker, please- the words repeated themselves over and over again in his head. The person stopped, as if assessing Cassandra and himself, both of them were clearly visible in the light of the nearby torches. An enemy then? Judging their chances of survival?

Cullen strained to listen, convinced he had heard a weak shout from the newcomer but the sound was lost to the wind. He took another few steps, coming to a sudden halt as the person staggered forwards again. A few paltry bits of flame drifted down from the figures right hand before they dropped to their knees. Cullen was off and running in an instant. The feeble spell had to have been a signal to them ...it _had_ to be.

“It's her!” Cullen shouted needlessly as he kicked his way through the snow. He heard Cassandra send up a cry of thanks to the Maker. He dropped to his knees in front of Sylvie, just in time to stop her from falling face first into the snow. He turned her carefully, resting her on his knees and tucking an arm under her shoulders.

"Sylvie?” Cullen's voice was hoarse as he cupped a palm around her cheek. Her skin was painfully cold, lips almost blue and frost clung to her eyelashes and her hair. She _was_ breathing but it was shallow and rattling. He whispered her name again and this time her eyes fluttered open briefly before closing again.

“Cullen...” She was barely audible, her mouth _almost_ smiling before she went limp in his arms. Cullen hauled himself to his feet as quickly and as gently as he could manage, scooping Sylvie up. The limp weight of her body, coupled with her height, would make carrying her back down the hill difficult but the Maker himself couldn't get him to let go of Sylvie now.

“She needs a healer ...quickly.” Cassandra said as they hurried down to the camp. Cullen resisted the urge to snap at The Seeker for pointing out the blatantly obvious. He half expected Sylvie to wake up simply to do it for him. Two of the guards that had been posted at the edge of the camp came rushing towards them, stopping dead in their tracks suddenly. Cullen couldn't be sure if it was the sight of The Herald that startled them or an angry Cassandra Pentaghast pointing at them.

“You! Find us a healer!” She barked before focussing her gaze on the other soldier. “You! Run on ahead and make sure we have a clear path to an empty tent.” Both men rushed off to obey.

As they made it to the camp, Sylvie was beginning to stir in Cullen's arms, groaning in pain with every jostle of his steps.

“We're nearly there.” Cullen whispered, hoping that somewhere in her semi-conscious state that she could hear him. The soldier had done an admirable job of keeping a clear path for them but word that The Herald of Andraste had come back to them had clearly spread quickly through the camp. A crowd was beginning to form, the sound of hushed murmurs rippling through the air as they saw Sylvie in Cullen's arms. Cassandra held open the tent flap for him and while he was carefully manoeuvring Sylvie inside, Cullen heard Dorian loudly declaring that people needed to get out of his way.

 

\- - -

 

Gingerly, Dorian pressed his fingertips to his forehead, feeling for any signs of the wound he had received earlier. The skin felt smooth, unmarred, so despite being nearly one hundred years old and smelling remarkably like cabbage, the healer had done his job passably well. Now if only there was something the old man could have done to fix the dull ache in his chest.

Dorian had never had a particularly easy job making friends. Certainly, people often _liked_ him well enough but there was more to true friendship than simple tolerance. The bond that had sprung up so quickly between Sylvie and himself could have been a friendship for the ages, rivalling even Varric and the Champion of Kirkwall ...if a sodding Archdemon and some messed-up Templars hadn't ruined it all.

After he had been tended to by the ancient healer (Commander's orders and all that), Dorian had wandered around the burgeoning camp. Just the simple activity of people putting up tents made him feel more lonely than he would _ever_ care to admit. It reminded him too much of his and Sylvie's terrible failure in assisting with the construction of the mage camp and the ridiculousness of The Herald of Andraste giggling in a pile of canvas. Dorian had grown far too accustomed to the sound of her laughter and it seemed like such an odd concept that he would never hear it again.

During his wanderings, Dorian had come upon Bull, Sera and Blackwall seated around a camp-fire and passing a bottle back and forth. _Kaffas_ ...was it really only a few hours ago that he was doing that with Sylvie? He contemplated joining them until he got close enough to hear a snipped of their conversation. They were trading stories about Sylvie.

No, he was absolutely _not_ ready to share his grief yet, not with these people. It was a dreadful irony that the only person he would have felt comfortable sharing it with was the very reason for his grief in the bloody first place.

Dorian had quickly turned away before they noticed him, although he was fairly sure that Bull spotted him, despite his obvious eyeball deficiency. He found himself a spot on a fallen log. It was far enough out of the way that no one would trouble him but close enough that he could still see most of what was happening in the camp. He reached down to brush away enough snow to prevent his arse cheeks from freezing shut before he sat down.

He rummaged around inside his robes, eventually pulling out a decent sized, silverite hip flask. It had been a gift from Sylvie just before they had left for the Storm Coast. A travelling merchant had passed through Haven and Sylvie had purchased a number of little trinkets and statues to display proudly in her cabin. They all seemed like utter tat to Dorian until he realised just _why_ she had been so excited- it was the first time she had ever bought something for herself. They were also the first possessions she had owned since the Conclave exploded that were truly _hers._ It was rather unpleasant to think that they were now buried under all that snow.

Once Sylvie had plopped her new belongings on the mantelpiece, without any proper arrangement whatsoever, she had grinned at him as she handed over the hip-flask, proudly declaring that it was a gift. Dorian, without thinking, had asked why. He was far too used to a society where accepting a gift meant agreeing to some, usually horrible, favour. Sylvie had simply laughed.

“It made me think of you.” She had told him, that cheeky glint in her eyes to indicate a tease was coming. “Pretty and full of alcohol!”

Dorian felt himself _almost_ smile at the memory as he unscrewed the serpentstone encrusted lid. If he were completely honest with himself, it was more than a little garish but he had still carried that blasted thing with him ever since. He took a long pull from it, thumbs running over the delicate filigree on it's sides. It was really all he had left of her.

He looked up as two people went scurrying passed, followed by three more a few moments later. Dorian screwed the lid back on the flask and stored it carefully inside his robes, frowning as he looked out over the camp and saw a grand commotion beginning to stir. If they were under attack _again_ tonight, he may just wave his hands around blindly until a Templar stabbed him- better to get it over with quickly. Two mages ran in front of him this time, talking in excited voices.

“She really _must_ have been blessed by the Maker...”

Dorian was on his feet quickly when he heard those words. Surely not...

He hurried after them, almost colliding with them as they stopped suddenly. Dorian peered around them, greeted by a swarm of the backs of peoples heads. Just visible over the sea of onlookers was the top of the Commander's head as he made his way with great haste towards a tent. Cullen's appearance sent a wave of murmurs across the crowd.

“Andraste sent her back to us again...”

Dorian had enough at that point, ungraciously elbowing people as he tried to push his way to the front of the crowd. An extraordinarily fat and oblivious woman barred his path.

“Get out of my way.” Dorian snapped impatiently. The great monstrosity of a woman turned to scowl at him. Luckily, the stick of man beside her (who Dorian thought, with a stab of pity, could well have been her husband) looked at Dorian with recognition of just _who_ he was and stepped out of the way. He caught a glimpse of Cullen manoeuvring a decidedly person shaped bundle into the tent. It seemed too much to hope that it was, in fact, a _Sylvie_ shaped bundle but Dorian strode into tent nonetheless.

He entered just in time to watch Cullen gently place what had, indeed, been an armful of Herald onto the cot in the middle of the tent. The two healers were already bustling about, one of them pulling blankets from a trunk and the other casting silent spells over Sylvie's prone form. Dorian could hear Sylvie's laboured breathing as he stepped up beside the cot. Her clothes looked as if they were frozen solid and her skin, especially around her lips, was a rather ominous shade of blue.

“I must inform the others.” Cassandra said brusquely. Dorian would _never_ tell the The Seeker that he had seen the tears threatening to build in her eyes as she left the tent. He preferred his jaw be left unbroken. He and Cullen took a step back as the healer shoved passed them, a dagger gripped in her hands.

“Both of you get out as well.” She snapped, beginning the delicate takes of cutting away Sylvie's wet and frozen clothes. Dorian took a few steps backwards until he was in the very corner of the tent. He folded his arms across his chest and simply glared. The healer paused in her actions and glared back. “Did I stutter? I said- _out_!”

“Oh I heard you perfectly clearly.” Dorian replied. “But I will _not_ be made to leave her again so feel free to stand and debate it with me while The Herald of Andraste slowly freezes to death. However, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather you shut up and saved her.” He restrained himself from adding 'you old shrew' to the end of his speech. He dropped himself down onto the stool behind him and waved a hand to indicate that she best continue. The healer gave Dorian one last glare before returning to her task of carefully stripping Sylvie down.

“Please let us know how she is as soon as you can.” Cullen said, his voice thick. Dorian glanced over at him- his brow was furrowed but there was something close to hope in his eyes as he turned and hurried out the tent.

Dorian wasn't sure how long he sat and watched the healers work. It was _still_ bloody dark outside so it couldn't have been overly long. He had only half-listened as the two healers discussed and treated Sylvie's injuries, far too intent on actually looking at her. As her clothes had been stripped off, Dorian had to choke back the nausea that struck him as he saw the state she was in. Her right leg was badly grazed, old blood dry and flaking on her skin. All around her abdomen, over her ribs, was significantly bruised and there was a large wound peaking round her left hip from her back. He also caught sight of what looked suspiciously like a huge hand print around her left wrist as the healer finished wrapping her in blankets and placed Sylvie's arms back down on the cot. Dorian wasn't sure if he wanted to weep or tear apart the person who had done this to her with his bare hands.

Eventually, the frantic pace of the healers began to slow and they looked more to be packing things back up than actually treating Sylvie. The older healer whom he had argued with said something quietly to her assistant and the young man nodded and disappeared outside. The healer finished rinsing her hands off in the nearby basin before drying them on a towel that turned pink with the washed-off blood.

“I'll leave you to keep an eye on her now.” The healer said, tossing the towel into a box of dirty linen and bandages. “Anything changes in her breathing, let me know- her ribs were badly cracked and I think one of them punctured her lung...” The healer looked down at Sylvie and shook her head. “Touched by Andraste, indeed.”

“Thank you.” Dorian replied, almost ashamed of the way his voice broke. “And, you know ...sorry about all the shouting.” He added, waving a hand. The healer _actually_ chuckled as she went to leave the tent.

“Listen, lad, you think that's the worst I've ever heard from someone who thinks they're about to lose a loved one?” She shook her head and placed a comforting hand on Dorian's shoulder. “The worst has passed, she's going to be okay.” Dorian nodded and turned his gaze back to Sylvie as the healer left them alone.

It wasn't long before the tent flap opened again and it was of no surprise to Dorian that the first person to visit Sylvie was Cullen. The Commander strode to the side of the cot opposite where Dorian was sitting without saying a word. He felt his mouth curving into a slight smirk as he watched Cullen staring down at her. When Sylvie had described the way that Cullen looked at her before their near-kiss, he had thought she might have been playing up the situation for Dorian's benefit. Now, however, he saw _exactly_ what she meant- Cullen truly was staring at her like she was the only thing in his entire world. It was endearing and adorable ...and so romantic that if he were a worse man he would have made an inappropriate joke about wanting to vomit.

“How badly was she hurt?” Cullen eventually asked, his voice low.

“I was a little distracted by the sheer state she was in but what from what I can gather, she had damaged several ribs and one hip, punctured a lung, dislocated her shoulder and taken yet another knock to the head.” Dorian ticked them off his fingers. “Oh, and if she had been out there much longer she would have frozen to death.”

“Maker's breath...” Cullen hissed. “How did she make it here?” Dorian assumed the question was rhetorical since, until Sylvie woke up, they had no way of knowing what had happened. He answered Cullen all the same.

“Stubbornness, I would imagine.” He watched as the scarred side of Cullen's mouth twitched into a sad half-smile. His hand was on the cot, fingers a mere hairs width away from Sylvie's. Dorian rolled his eyes. “You _can_ hold her hand, you know. I doubt she'd mind.”

“I ...right.” Cullen managed to say. It was hard to tell in the dim light of the tent but Dorian was sure the other man's ears were going pink. In spite of that, Cullen still laced his fingers through Sylvie's. Dorian stood, picking up the stool and moving around to stand beside Cullen. He sat the stool down next to him and indicated to it as he moved back to the other side of the cot.

“Why don't I leave you to take a turn watching over her?” Dorian said. Cullen looked up and nodded to him.

“Thank you ...I would like that...” He said as he sat down, thumb brushing over the back of Sylvie's hand. Dorian took Sylvie's other hand in his, leaning down to press a light kiss to her now significantly warmer forehead. The colour was coming back to her cheeks, her expression now one of peace rather than pain.

Dorian turned to leave, chancing a look back at the scene behind him. He watched Cullen reach up to Sylvie's face and brush a few stray strands of brown hair from her cheek, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. In that moment, as he made his way back outside, Dorian swore to the Maker that if Sylvie didn't awaken and come back to that handsome Commander waiting for her, he would march into the fade himself and _drag_ her out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delighted. That's the word I have for how I feel about this chapter! And I thoroughly hope you readers feel the same. Thanks as always to everyone following this story, and to the readers who work their way through it from the start. You are all lovely and beautiful!


	17. This Night Still Isn't Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter! Between Trespasser coming out and work-related stuff it's been a hectic couple of weeks.

Sylvie swam into consciousness slowly, forcing her eyes to remain tightly shut. _If_ she were dead and in the fade, she wasn't quite ready to accept it yet. Experimentally, she shifted her shoulders just a fraction. There was still some aching in the left one which was promising- she was fairly confident that if she _were_ dead then nothing would hurt any more. Next, she tried to wiggle her fingers. Her left hand moved without issue but the right one was stuck beneath a warm weight. Okay ...someone was holding her hand and ...was that snoring? Concluding that being dead _probably_ didn't involve hand holding and snoring, Sylvie finally flickered her eyes open.

Above her was the roof a tent, oddly enough there were footprints on it if she squinted. With some degree of pain she looked down to see the back of Cullen's head, his cheek resting on the cot beside her arm. Sylvie made a miserable attempt to nudge him awake but couldn't be certain if her arm even moved.

“Cullen...” She _barely_ heard her own voice, throat dry and raw as it was, but by some small mercy Cullen's head shot up and he turned to look at her. The hair on the side of his head that he had been lying on was more dishevelled than the other, blond hair dropping in short waves over the top of his ear. In spite of her current circumstance, Sylvie felt herself smile just slightly at the sight.

“You're awake!” Cullen said, more loudly than Sylvie expected, his mouth tilting up into a gentle smile so sweet she wondered if she were dead after all. She didn't have the strength for a sarcastic response, simply managing a weak nod. Cullen frowned a little, standing up quickly and moving out of her line of sight. She was about to force out some words when he reappeared at her side. “Here...” He said as he carefully slid a hand under her head to lift it up, pressing a cup to her lips. Sylvie nearly moaned as the cold water slipped down her throat. When she nodded to indicate that she'd had enough, Cullen placed the cup on the ground and sat back down.

“How did you know?” Sylvie asked, referring to the water. It had done wonders- she was now several levels above a mouse, sounding remarkably more like a pipe smoking dwarf.

“I've seen my fair share of soldiers wake up from injuries- a drink is the first thing they need.” Cullen explained. Sylvie noticed that while he had been getting the water, Cullen also appeared to have smoothed his hair back down. He _still_ had that smile on his lips.

“Next time,” Sylvie said, letting her eyes drift shut, “bring wine...” Her eyes flew open at the mention of wine and she tried to sit up, only getting her torso half-off the cot before pain racked across her ribs. “Where's Dorian?” Why had that not been her first thought on waking? How could she have forgotten the sight of him, along with Blackwall and Bull, through the walls of flames? Sylvie closed her eyes tight against the pain in her ribs and then she was back down the mountain. She could still feel the heat of the flames, the smell of Haven burning ...she could remember the sound of her own voice _screaming_ at them to run ...to leave her. Through the flames and smoke, Sylvie had _just_ been able to see Bull grabbing Dorian around the chest to drag him away ...Dorian had been shouting something to her but the Archdemon had roared overhead and his words were lost. She had thought that the signal sent up from the mountains was one of his spells but if it was- where was he?

Sylvie's chest began to constrict, injured lungs fighting against her panicked state to try to get some air back into her body. She gasped, choking on smoke that, somewhere in her mind, she knew wasn't really there. Dimly, she became aware of a strong hand on her shoulder and someone calling her name. Sylvie opened her eyes, her gaze snapping up to meet Cullen's.

“Sylvie?” She heard him again over the blood rushing through her ears. His thumb was rubbing at her collarbone, his other hand cupped around her cheek. “Take a deep breath...” He kept his brown eyes on hers, breathing with her. In ...out ...in ...out. She felt her wild heart beat beginning to slow, the dizziness beginning to fade.

“Dorian is fine.” Cullen assured her softly, gently easing her back down. “He was here before I was. In fact, he was _most_ insistent about remaining here while the healers treated you.” He gave her a small smile. Sylvie swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“And Bull? Blackwall?” She asked, letting out a sigh of relief when Cullen nodded.

“They are both fine as well.” He told her, casting his eyes downwards before he spoke again. “Blackwall told us that you ...ordered them to leave you.” Sylvie frowned.

“Of course I did- I was the one this 'Elder One' wanted. If they left me behind then they at least had a _chance_ of escape.” She shrugged as best she could while lying down. “It made sense at the time- save a skilled mage, the captain of a mercenary company and a Grey Warden at the expense of just one person.” Cullen finally looked back up at her, jaw clenched and eyes just a little narrowed.

“Tactically speaking ...yes, you made a sound decision while in the heat of battle- not something that everyone can do.” He told her. Sylvie felt a flash of pride at Cullen's words. She hadn't wanted to second guess herself but there was a look in Cullen's eyes that had made her doubt her decision, even if it was just for a second. Cullen sighed. “But you're not just a person, not to me...” He cleared his throat, breaking Sylvie's gaze, “...not to any of us, I mean.” Sylvie snorted, wincing at the pain in her ribs before following it up with a short coughing fit.

“Of course not- I'm the Herald of Andraste.” She eventually replied. Without any input from her brain, her eyes began to close. It would certainly seem that facing down a Old God Magister and his pet Archdemon was even more draining that one would have thought.

“That wasn't quite what I meant.” Cullen said softly. Sylvie forced her eyes back open, stomach doing some sort of backflip at the look on Cullen's face. It was _that_ look again- the one that stripped away everything around them. There was no tent, no camp-site outside ...no Inquisition, no army or scouts ...it was just _them_ and ...well, shit. Nothing had managed to kill her just yet but that look in Cullen's eyes might just achieve it.

She wanted to ask “what did you mean?” but the words wouldn't come. Lying injured on a cot while so _much_ about the immediate future was uncertain didn't seem like the time to have this particular conversation with Cullen. Was he waiting for it though? Would he take her lack of questioning to mean that she wasn't ... _interested_ in him? Sylvie couldn't let him think that so she wordlessly laced her fingers through his as she pulled her eyes away from his stare and looked at their entwined hands instead. The air around them grew heavy and Sylvie could practically _feel_ that Cullen had more to say. There was significantly more to the clasping of their hands than a simple comforting gesture between colleagues, or even friends, and they _both_ knew it. Perhaps, like her, Cullen had reached some sort of internal conclusion that now was not the time for the conversation they would inevitably need to have sooner or later. Sylvie hoped it was closer to 'sooner' than 'later'.

“You went out there expecting to die.” Cullen eventually said, his voice low. Sylvie's eyes flicked back up to his face- he was still staring at their hands.

“I did...” Sylvie replied honestly, there was no point in sugar coating the truth. She didn't see the need to lie to him, in telling him she had had a plan to survive all along. She forced a smile, hoping to prevent the mood growing too morbid. “Once again I defied the odds- I'm _still_ not dead.” Cullen looked up at her and for a brief moment his face was grim in it's intensity but when his eyes dropped to settle on Sylvie's smile, his own lips began to curve.

“I can see that.” He replied. The smile dropped quickly from his expression. “It was close, though ...so close that, for a time, it seemed like I'd ... _we'd_ lost you.” Cullen raised his free hand to her face, hesitating before the back of his fingers traced across her forehead, down her cheek and along her jaw. Sylvie almost felt like he was checking that she was actually real. She tried to keep her eyes open but they fluttered shut under his caress. It was then that Cullen seemed to realise what he was doing, how very _close_ they were to crossing a line, and he drew his hand away.

“When we saw you out there in the snow, it seemed like the Maker had heard our prayers.” Cullen began. Sylvie kept her eyes closed, letting the rich sound of his voice wash over her. “But then ...you fell to your knees and when I lifted you from the ground to carry you to the camp ...Maker's breath you were so cold. I thought ...I thought you had been sent back to us only so we could watch as you died.”

“And yet ...here I am.” Sylvie said, her voice beginning to grow thick with tiredness.

“Here you are.” Cullen repeated. Sylvie felt his thumb swiping back and forth over the back of her hand.

“You carried me to the camp?” Sylvie asked through a yawn.

“You don't remember?” Cullen responded curiously. She managed to open her eyes ever so slightly. He was looking at her with a small frown, head tilted to one side. She shook her head.

“I remember ...the snow and ...a cold firepit and the sounds of wolves in the distance...” Sylvie scowled. “No ...I don't really remember much after the avalanche. I just ...knew I had to keep walking.”

“There isn't a great deal for you to remember, the important thing is that you found your way back to us.” Cullen told her. Sylvie managed, what she hoped, was a somewhat teasing grin.

“I would actually quite like to remember being carried around by you.” She quipped. Hopefully if Varric ever wrote her tale, he wouldn't know enough details to include the part where she tried to _flirt_ with Cullen while recovering from serious injuries in a tent. Luckily, Cullen actually _chuckled_ at her ridiculousness.

“Perhaps...” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps there will be other opportunities ...I mean ...when you're not in danger of freezing to death.” Sylvie was fairly sure her grin got remarkably wider. Cullen Rutherford was flirting back. Awkwardly and with more than a slight blush but it was a suggestive comment all the same. Her eyes fell shut as she tried to think of a response ...maybe something _else_ for him to quip back at but Cullen spoke up first. “You _should_ really get more rest. Your injuries were ...grave and the work the healers did will need more time to mend your wounds” He said quietly. Sylvie tried to open her eyes but failed this time and she heard Cullen chuckle. “Dorian was right when he said that it was most likely stubbornness that got you up that mountain.” Sylvie tried her best to scowl through her eyelids.

“I don't ...need ...more rest...” She replied, her voice starting to slur like she'd had too much wine. Dimly she was aware of Cullen snorting in amusement and she was sure if she had been looking that she would have seen him roll his eyes.

“Clearly.” There was a passing moment of silence, during which Sylvie felt Cullen's thumb brushing over the back of her hand again. He lifted her hand slightly, almost startling her when he pressed a light kiss to her knuckles.“Go back to sleep, Sylvie.” He whispered against her fingers. She was vaguely aware of the shiver that his voice sent down her spine as sleep claimed her again.

The next time Sylvie woke up there was no comforting hand in hers and definitely no light snoring, just the occasional flick of book pages turning. She was pleased to note that all her aches seemed to have dulled to a bearable level, the spells and potions from the healers still working through her wounds. Blinking a few times, her surroundings eventually came into focus and she felt a small flutter of sadness when she realised that Cullen was no longer seated by her side. The disappointment faded rapidly, however, when she looked over to the corner of the tent and saw Dorian, seemingly unscathed, sitting on the stool and flipping through a book. She wanted ask if he was okay, tell him how happy she was to see him sitting there but he would probably roll his eyes and call her a sap.

“Where did you find a book up a mountain?” Sylvie chose to croak out instead. Dorian's eyes shot up from the page.

“Oh good, you're finally awake.” He remarked, his tone as casual as if she'd simply been taking an afternoon nap. “This,” he continued, waving the book around, “I borrowed from one of the mages.”

“Borrowed or stolen?” Sylvie asked. Dorian feigned offence.

“ _Borrowed._ Do you take me for some common brigand?” He frowned. “Although I doubt any bandits would be interested in _this._ ”

“Not an interesting read?” She replied, gingerly trying to haul herself into a sitting position.

“It's about herbalism.” Dorian replied flatly, dropping the tome onto the ground beside him. “Did you know that deathroot can be used as an effective laxative?”

“Fascinating.” Sylvie responded, her tone equally as disinterested. She winced a little as she swung her legs round off the cot. While she wouldn't necessarily call herself comfortable, the worst of the pain was definitely over.

“I could have helped you up, you know.” Dorian remarked, getting up from the stool and coming over to the cot. Sylvie noticed that, while he had no visible wounds, Dorian's robes were bloody and covered in dirt.

“You look a mess.” Sylvie told him as he sat down beside her.

“You should find a mirror, my dear.” He quipped back. “Besides, I was rather too distracted by the apparent death, then reappearance, of The Herald of Andraste to tidy myself up.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “If my current condition offends you, Your Worship, I can leave and make myself more presentable?”

Under normal circumstances, Sylvie would have scowled and possibly sworn at him for that comment. Nothing about this day had been normal, however. Sylvie grabbed Dorian's wrist, near enough forcing his arm around her shoulders as she flung her other arm around his neck. She then promptly burst into tears. Dorian froze briefly before wrapping his other arm around her and giving her a squeeze.

“Oh for Maker's sake.” He sighed. “I'm not going any where- I doubt any one has spare clothing in my particular style anyway.” For some reason Dorian's words (which she assumed were meant to make her laugh) only made her cry harder. Dorian ran his fingers through her hair, rocking her ever so slightly from side to side as her sobs began to taper out.

“I don't even know why I'm crying.” She declared between sniffs. Dorian rubbed absently at her back.

“It _has_ been a rather eventful day for all of us ...even the ones who _didn't_ close a hole in the sky and then drop a mountain on themselves.” Dorian assured her, his tone low and soothing. “You're not the first to cry and undoubtedly you won't be the last either.”

“Have you spontaneously erupted into tears?” Sylvie asked, looking up from Dorian's shoulder with bleary eyes. Dorian's jaw clenched as he looked away, eyes firmly on the wall of the tent.

“It wasn't quite as an explosion of emotion as yours but yes ...I also have had a good, hard cry this evening.” Dorian admitted. Sylvie wiped at her, now drying, eyes and lay her head back down on Dorian's shoulder. He then rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I truly thought you were gone for good this time.” He began quietly. “When the avalanche finally settled everything became ..very still. I felt the tears brewing so I did what any self-respecting person would do and I fled to hide behind some trees.” Sylvie snorted.

“Funny- that's exactly what _I_ did the last time I cried.” She replied, pleased to hear that her voice was much less tremulous that it had been. Dorian planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“I remember ...I _also_ remember you telling me about how you got bundled up in Cullen's big strong arms until the crying stopped.” He said, absently pulling the blankets back up over Sylvie's bare shoulders. “But, alas! There was no handsome Commander to hold _me_ through _my_ tears.”

“If you recall correctly, I actually launched myself into poor Cullen's arms.” She replied with a smile. “I'm sure if you'd done the same thing he would have been far too polite, and startled, to push you away. However, I'd rather not drop another mountain on my head in order to test that theory.”

“I would also prefer it if you didn't do that again.” Dorian said pointedly. They lapsed into a few minutes of comfortable silence, Sylvie simply happy to know that both of them were okay, before she finally spoke again.

“He was holding my hand when I woke up...” She said as Dorian rubbed at her shoulder through the blankets.

“I know- he was hesitating quite adorably but I assured him that you wouldn't protest.” He told her. Sylvie laughed.

“Thanks for that, then.”

“I _also_ saw what you meant about the way he looks at you. To be completely truthful I assumed you were hamming the whole thing up for dramatic effect.” Dorian said and Sylvie felt him smirk against the top of her head. “I don't know how you stand it- if a man _that_ handsome looked at me that way I imagine I would melt like butter on a summers day...” he paused thoughtfully, “actually, _I_ would be more likely to tear off my robes and clamber on top of him.” Sylvie chuckled, lifting her head from Dorian's shoulder.

“ _That_ was not something I'd considered.” She replied, rolling the stiffness out of her neck. Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Are you _honestly_ trying to tell me that you haven't thought about all the wicked things that Cullen could do to you?” He asked in disbelief. Sylvie hid her own growing grin by shuffling forward to place her feet on the ground. From outside the tent she began to hear raised voices.

“I might have.” She replied evasively.

“ _Might_ have?” Dorian questioned. “The near kisses, all the stolen glances and the warm embraces ...at no point have you even _considered_ how it would feel to lie squirming beneath that muscled chest? Or how...” Sylvie quickly turned back around to put her hand over Dorian's mouth. His eyes were glinting with amusement.

“Obviously I've thought about it!” She all but snapped. “But do you _really_ think that stuck up a mountain while the Inquisition flounders over it's next move is the best time for us to have this conversation?” With Sylvie's hand still over his mouth, Dorian simply rolled his eyes and silently shook his head. She could hear the arguing outside growing more heated. “Should we maybe wait until we're by a cosy fire somewhere with several bottles of wine?” Dorian nodded and Sylvie smiled at him, taking her hand from his mouth.

“You used to be fun.” Dorian said with a dramatic sigh. “Don't go getting all serious on me now there's some cackling evil villain for us to fight.” The voices outside were now loud enough for Sylvie to identify who they belonged to- Cullen, Leliana and Josephine.

“How long have they been arguing?” Sylvie asked, indicating that the conversation about her 'squirming' beneath Cullen was definitely over for now. It was an extremely difficult image to push to the back of her mind. They should at least get a kiss out of the way before _that_ happened.

“Who? Your advisors?” Dorian shrugged. “Off and on for a few hours since it was clear that you weren't dead or in any immediate danger of departing from the land of the living.” Sylvie frowned.

“Do they really think that having a camp full of scared survivors hearing them argue is a _good_ thing?” She hissed, standing up from the cot. Her legs were a little shaky but manageable. Dorian was staring at her.

“Andraste's flaming knickers, you _have_ gotten sensible!” He said. “Since when was Sylvie Trevelyan the voice of reason?” Sylvie couldn't help but chuckle.

“I don't know! Did the healer check for brain damage? I did take quite the knock to the head.” She reached behind her head and began twisting her hair into a bun, knotting the end of the ponytail around itself before tucking it all in. It wouldn't stay in place very well but at least it was out of her face.

“My dear, I've seen you fall on your head so many times in the last few months that I am actually beginning to suspect that your skull is made of iron.” Dorian said with a smile. “But I will ask them to come and check on you because _surely_ you should be out there shouting about things and threatening to set them all on fire.” Sylvie put her hands on her hips.

“Oddly enough that was _exactly_ what I was going to go and do.”

“One small flaw in your plan, my precious little Commander lover.” Dorian said, waving a hand up and down Sylvie's body. She frowned and looked down, bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Dorian …I have no clothes.” She chuckled. “Well ...I have pants, I suppose. Apparently the only piece of clothing that can survive avalanches and nearly freezing to death are knickers.”

“If you go out there like that then I doubt they would do you much good- seemingly freeze proof or not.” Dorian stood up and wandered over to a trunk beside the brazier. “Although you'd probably be able to keep yourself warm enough from the heat coming off of Cullen's cheeks.”

“I _have_ started to quite enjoy it when he blushes.” Sylvie admitted, catching the random garments that Dorian was tossing in her direction. Dorian snorted.

“No one could blame you for that.” He sat himself back down on the cot. “I forgot to ask something.” Sylvie looked up from where she was tucking a several sizes too big tunic into the waistband of trousers that were clearly made for a giant. She was far from short but she had a sneaking suspicion that these clothes had once belonged to Bull. Well ...the trousers, at least, Sylvie seriously doubted that Bull even _owned_ a shirt.

“Which was?” She asked, her brows furrowing. At the moment she _really_ didn't want Dorian to ask what happened when they left her in Haven. He would want all the details and she wasn't quite ready to face it all again.

“Did he finally kiss you?” Dorian asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as Sylvie nearly fell over trying to pull on a pair of boots.

“He kissed my hand before I fell asleep- does that count?” She replied, stuffing the legs of the trousers into the boots that were blessedly a close match to her own size.

“No, it doesn't.” Dorian said, throwing a cloak at her. “Not even a little bit. Perhaps I will fashion some kind of sign, something that reads 'Just kiss her already' to wave around in the background every time I see the two of you together.” Sylvie scowled at him as she wrapped herself in the musty fur of the cloak. Although, she could feel a smile straining to crack through her expression.

“Don't even think about it.” She warned. Sylvie put her hands on her hips. There was another bout of raised voices from outside. It was a terrifying day when _she_ was the one about to go and attempt to diffuse an argument. “Right ...to work then, I guess. How do I look?” Dorian tilted his head.

“Like a rotund bear cub ...with mange.” He replied. Sylvie looked down at herself. She had to concede that Dorian had a point.

“Well, it'll have to do...” She paused when she heard Cassandra's voice adding itself to the argument. She glared and half-limped, half-stomped towards the tent flaps. “Oh for fucks sake...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual thanks go out to everyone for the reads/kudos/subs. And to my lovely beta Gabtinha who should probably get some sort of award for being brilliant. Also, on my Tumblr (http://kittydrakeheart.tumblr.com/) I have composed a short(ish) bio and history, complete with a picture, for Sylvie for anyone that fancies a nosey at it. Feel free if you read it to ask any questions!


	18. Too Old For Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter to you all. Hopefully another Dorian pov chapter makes the wait worth it! As always thanks to everyone reading/subbing/commenting/leaving kudos, you are all wonderful.

“Dorian...”

Someone was whispering his name, quite insistently in fact. The voice was female, indicating that Dorian was _not_ about to have some sort of pleasant dream about a well-muscled Chevalier.

“Dorian ...Dorian ...Dorian...”

“For Maker's sake, what is ...arghh!” Dorian's question was cut off as he let out a rather high-pitched scream. He had opened his eyes only to find Sylvie's face a scant distance from his. “Kaffas, woman!” Dorian exclaimed manoeuvring backwards as much as he could on the small cot. He threw one arm over his eyes as he rolled onto his back. “For future reference- when you finally bed the Commander, there are better ways to wake a man up.” He heard Sylvie laugh.

“I'll keep that in mind.” She replied. Dorian rolled back onto his side to face her once he was certain that his heart hadn't exploded with fright. The bedroll that Varric had been occupying was empty and there was light shining through the gaps in the tent canvas.

“Oh good, I see daylight hasn't abandoned us after all.” Dorian commented as Sylvie got up from where she had been kneeling beside the cot. Without a word, she lifted the layers of blankets covering Dorian and squashed herself onto the cot beside him, bringing the blankets up to her chin.

“Didn't you hear the song last night? It _did_ say the dawn would come.” She said, adjusting her position until she was on her side facing him, head held in one hand as she propped herself up on her elbow.

“I heard the song.” Dorian replied, “but I got too focussed on how dreadfully uncomfortable you looked to actually listen to the words in any great detail.” Sylvie frowned.

“Do you think _they_ noticed?” She asked.

“I think they were too busy kneeling at your feet to notice that you wanted to flee into the darkness.” Dorian told her. Sylvie groaned at his response.

“I don't think I've _ever_ felt that awkward in my entire life. They think the Maker has sent me to them _twice_ now and no one will let me tell people otherwise! This whole situation, this stupid mark on my hand- a mistake! An accident caused by sheer misfortune.”

“What do you mean?” Dorian asked, frowning.

He listened intently as Sylvie told him everything that had happened after she was left behind in Haven. A lot of the information she gave him were things that Dorian had been able to glean from overhearing snippets of conversations around the camp. Not that he had been eavesdropping- perish the thought- but when someone overhears the words “Old God”, “Magister” and “Dark Spawn” it is entirely impossible _not_ to listen. Dorian could feel his expression growing more and more grim with every detail. Eventually, Sylvie got to the point in the story where she was trudging through the snow, her memory from after the avalanche still hazy from the knock to the head she took.

“Good old Tevinter strikes again.” Dorian said with a sigh when Sylvie was finished. “This Corypheus ...he was the Magister who led the others in the ritual to crack the Golden City- or so they say- and now _you_ of all people have spoiled his plan to restore the Imperium to it's previous glory ...never let it be said that Sylvie Trevelyan doesn't know how to get herself into trouble.” Sylvie snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Now I just need to figure out how to get _out_ of trouble.” She replied.

“I don't remember signing up to wage war on a dark spawn magister and would-be god but if that's the plan then you know I'll stand with you.” Dorian said, earning him a grateful smile from Sylvie. “Assuming you're not planning said war from this freezing mountain side. If that's the case then you're on your own.”

“Solas told me of a place we can go after he rescued me from the kneeling crowd last night- somewhere safe where the Inquisition can rebuild and regroup.” Sylvie said. “I don't know much other than I've to 'scout to the north- be their guide'”.

“You got lost leading us back to camp on the Storm Coast, _twice_ , and Solas wants you to lead the whole Inquisition up a mountain?” Dorian teased with a smirk. Sylvie scowled and swatted his arm.

“Everything looked different in the dark.” She said, defensively. “Besides, there are less trees up here to confuse me. Go north up the mountain- easy, right?”

 

\- - -

 

“Go north, she said,” Dorian huffed as he reached the top of yet _another_ rise, “it will be easy, she said!” He stopped to catch his breath, face undoubtedly flushed and there were beads of sweat clinging to his forehead unpleasantly.

“It's _just_ climbing! ” A child's voice piped up behind him. Dorian turned to see Sylvie's tiny mages, Patrick, Anthony and Aria, scurrying up the path behind him. In their little child minds, the three of them had assumed that since Dorian was Sylvie's friend, then _he_ was most definitely their friend too. As the camps were being packed up earlier that day, Aria had loudly declared that she wanted to walk up the mountain with Dorian and firmly suggested that the boys wanted to as well. Her tone had brokered no argument and, for a moment, she had sounded suspiciously like a miniaturised Sylvie.

“Climbing must be harder for old people, though.” Anthony chimed in. Dorian spluttered indignantly as the three children came to stand beside him, a laughing Varric close behind.

“You hear that, Sparkler?” The dwarf shouted jovially. “You're finding the climb hard because you're so _old_.”

“I'll have you know I'm only a few years older than Sylvie.” Dorian told them, folding his arms. The absurdity of arguing with a child while half-way towards the bloody sky was _not_ lost on him. The tiny mages were staring at him thoughtfully as if trying to decide if Dorian was lying to them. Before any conclusion could be reached, however, Patrick and Anthony suddenly jerked to attention. Frowning, Dorian turned to see Cullen coming towards him, the setting sun reflecting off his breastplate.

“Commander!” Anthony and Patrick near-shouted in unison, exercising a perfectly synchronised salute. Dorian had to admit that it _was_ rather adorable. Cullen stopped in front of the boys, his lips curving in amusement.

“At ease, gentlemen.” He said curtly, turning his attention to Aria and bowing slightly. “My Lady.” Dorian had been wrong- _that_ was adorable, particularly when Aria curtsied while going bright pink.

“I believe Senior Enchanter Marcus has been looking for you three.” Cullen told them, hands clasped on the pommel of his sword. “Perhaps Varric would be so good as to accompany you to him and I can borrow Dorian?”

“Yes, Ser!” Patrick said, saluting again. The children took off, still full of unexplainable energy, with Varric hurrying after them.

“See you later, old man.” The dwarf threw over his shoulder as he left. Dorian scowled after him, wondering if he could pass of a deliberate lightening strike as a freak act of nature.

“Old man?” Cullen asked, turning to Dorian and raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, yes...” Dorian said, putting his hands on his hips, “according to Sylvie's precious little mages I am finding the climb difficult due to my advanced age.” Cullen was clearly trying to keep a straight face.

“Children really are delightful aren't they?” He quipped, finally giving in to his amusement and chuckling.

“Oh yes, I'm positively broody now- just let me quickly nip off and impregnate someone.” Dorian replied, still scowling. He shook his head, there was no _real_ point in being angry at children ...he supposed. “Anyway, enough about my bruised ego. What did you want to borrow me for?” Cullen's amused expression dropped and he folded his arms. Well ...this certainly wasn't going to be anything good.

“The journey so far has been difficult on the wounded, and it's only the first day. Our healers are doing what they can but they are few in numbers and they have been working constantly for hours now.” Cullen broke eye contact and looked off across the mountains. “Lyrium supplies are scarce for the moment, meaning we have a limited amount for the healers to use in order to keep casting.” Realisation dawned on Dorian.

“So you need all magical hands on deck?” He asked and Cullen looked back to him. The Commander's expression was strained and it took Dorian a moment to figure out why. “If lyrium is scarce- do we have enough for the few Templars we have here in the Inquisition?” He left it unspoken that he was asking more about Cullen than anyone else.

“We should have enough,” Cullen rubbed absently at the back of his neck, “provided that we ration what we have and source a new supply as soon as we are able.” If Dorian were a betting man- which incidentally he _was_ \- he would have bet good coin that the Commander was the first person on rationed lyrium.

“I'm afraid I am much like our lovely Herald when it comes to my healing skills but I will help where I can.” Dorian told him and Cullen nodded thankfully. Dorian lowered his voice a little before speaking again. “Are _you_ alright, Commander?”

“Me?” Cullen replied, frowning. “I am fine, why would you ...oh, of course, the lyrium. I was part of the Order for a long time, I have ...endured rationing before.”

There was something most definitely ...off about Cullen's response- something evasive in the way he answered. Dorian stored the information away to ponder over at a later time, right now he apparently had people to heal.

“Lead the way, Commander” Dorian said, letting the lyrium conversation drop for now.

“We're setting up camp for the night just over this rise.” Cullen said and turned to stride off. Dorian followed closely behind, trying to swiftly sort through his, considerably vast, magical knowledge to find what he could remember about healing.

Several hours and _another_ set of ruined robes later, Dorian found himself back in his shared tent, blearily reading a tattered copy of 'Swords and Shields' of all things while tucked into his bedroll. He had handed his cot over to the healers a few hours earlier, they needed it considerably more than Dorian did and a few nights on the ground, while unpleasant, wouldn't do him any serious harm. Varric was on the other side of the tent, quill scratching furiously on parchment as he wrote by candlelight. It was a noise that Dorian would have assumed would irritate him no-end but instead he found it rather soothing. After spending an evening treating the wounded, some of whom would not likely make it to their destination, it was comforting just to _be_ in the presence of someone else. Especially since he hadn't seen Sylvie all evening and she had retired earlier to the tent she had all to herself- a perk of being a religious icon, Dorian supposed.

Dorian and Varric looked up in unison as the tent flapped opened. As if summoned by Dorian's mind, Sylvie shuffled in, her brown hair hanging loosely past her shoulders, her arms wrapped across her body to hold her oversized cloak in place.

“Everything okay, Charcoal?” Varric asked her, sitting down his quill.

“I ...couldn't sleep.” Sylvie replied, eyes flicking to meet Dorian's gaze. He nodded once in understanding, lifting up the the top of his bedroll in invitation. Sylvie's nightmares had been bad after their little adventure in the future and Dorian couldn't imagine how horrific they must be now. She shrugged out of her cloak (leaving it in typical Sylvie fashion in a heap on the ground) and wriggled her way into the bedroll beside Dorian. She was asleep almost the instant that her body made contact with his. It wasn't going to be an especially comfortable arrangement having two people squashed into the same small space but, assuming Sylvie didn't kick his shins into oblivion like the _last_ time they'd been in this position, Dorian was sure he could endure it.

He went back to his book, hand absently stroking through Sylvie's hair. Out of the corner of his eye, Dorian could see Varric looking sadly over at Sylvie.

“You know, Sparkler,” Varric whispered, mindful not disturb Sylvie. “I've seen what fate does to the people it picks on- I don't know if I can watch it again.” Dorian shook his head, putting his book to the side and settling down with an arm round Sylvie.

“ _Nothing_ is going to happen to her.” Dorian replied quietly, looking up to meet Varric's baleful gaze. “We won't let it.” Varric clenched his jaw, nodding once in silent agreement.

 

\- - -

 

The following two days passed by in much the same routine as the first one had. Each night, once the camp had grown quiet for the evening, the tent flap would peel back and Sylvie would come in without a word and squash herself in beside Dorian. He would wake up in the morning, Sylvie already gone from the tent, and be accosted by tiny mages within minutes of stepping outside. He would help pack up camp before continuing the slow journey up the mountain. Varric would regale their small group with tale after tale, a number of which Dorian highly doubted the truth of, while the children listened with rapture. Eventually the sun would begin to set and the little mages scampered off to do ...whatever it was they did at night- eat and sleep, Dorian assumed, and he would head off to provide what relief he could for the 'proper' healers in the Inquisition. They only lost one person, a soldier, on the second night, but three people, including two mages, on the third.

On their _fourth_ bloody day on the mountain, Dorian found himself at the head of the column walking close behind Sylvie with Cullen by his side. The Commander was extremely quiet, dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin a shade or two paler than normal. It could have been from the journey, Maker knew that they were _all_ exhausted, or even from a troubled sleep but Dorian had a suspicion that it had a lot to do with the Inquisition's lack of lyrium supplies. He wasn't precisely sure how long a Templar could last without a fix and he wasn't particularly keen for Cullen to be a test subject in order to find out the answer.

Sylvie was considerably different out here to the tired, young woman who snuck into Dorian's tent every night. It was rather extraordinary, really- Sylvie was his silly, giggly friend who only a few months ago had never even used her magic in a fight and now she was leading, what was essentially an army, up a mountain having saved every single one of them by basically _out-witting_ a corrupted old god. She hadn't even fallen over once. To say he was proud of her was a gross understatement. Dorian wasn't the only one admiring Sylvie as she led them up the mountain. He had been kept quite entertained by surreptitiously watching Cullen watch her.

The Commander's eyes had been almost permanently fixed on Sylvie the whole morning. Every so often he would realise what he was doing and clear his throat, looking around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. The sixth time it happened (Dorian had been counting), Cullen finally saw Dorian watching him, his ears going red as he averted his eyes.

“Enjoying the view, Commander?” Dorian asked, smirking. Cullen was still blushing but a smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

“I didn't realise I was so obvious.” He replied, shaking his head ruefully. Dorian laughed.

“I would recommend sticking to commanding and leaving anything covert to Sister Leliana.” Dorian said and Cullen snorted.

“I will keep your advice in mind, thank you.” He responded, frowning as he looked up and noticed that Sylvie had stopped, standing between two peaks with Solas beside her. He and Dorian exchanged a glance before continuing forward to see what had caused the halt in their progress. Dorian hauled himself up and over a few rocks, taking Cullen's hand as he offered it down, allowing the Commander to help him up to where Sylvie was standing. Dorian followed her line of sight over the mountains to see what it was that made her stop.

A castle ...an honest to goodness _castle_ was perched on the mountains. The only entrance appeared to be up _another_ hill and along a single bridge and it's towers and buildings were ringed with high walls and battlements. Dorian wasn't an expert battle planner but it certainly _looked_ like exactly the sort of defensible location that the Inquisition needed. Sylvie turned to Solas, a huge grin on her face before she noticed Dorian and Cullen standing nearby.

“I _told_ you I wouldn't get us lost!” She said excitedly. Dorian had to laugh, Sylvie's enthusiasm feeling remarkably infectious.

“Yes you did,” He replied, “I should never have doubted you, my dear.” Sylvie looked to Cullen, taking the slightest step towards him.

“What do you think, Commander?” She asked him. Dorian watched as Cullen moved closer to her, almost subconsciously, his eyes never leaving the castle in the distance.

“Sturdy, defensible and with views across the full valley, I'd imagine.” His eyes finally looked to Sylvie. “It looks perfect.” She positively beamed at him. Dorian almost rolled his eyes, wondering if _now_ was a good time to start chanting 'kiss her'. He refrained for the moment.

“We should be able to reach it before nightfall if we keep moving.” Solas finally said, breaking up the gooey-eyed staring contest that seemed to have started between Sylvie and Cullen. The two of them stepped away from each other, but only slightly, Dorian noticed.

“Then let's keep moving.” Sylvie said, still smiling as she clambered down off the rock. Dorian watched as Cullen jumped down after her, the two of them exchanging glances as they walked side-by-side down into the valley.

“Does this place have a name?” Dorian asked as he and Solas fell into step close behind the two love-birds.

“This place was known as Tarasyl'an Te'las, more specifically, 'the place where the sky was held back'.” Solas replied, treading lightly over some rocks. “Or simply Skyhold, if you prefer.” Dorian looked up at the fortress and nodded.

“Skyhold- sounds ...extraordinary.”

“These are extraordinary days we are living through. The Inquisition faces an impossible task ... _she_ faces an impossible task.” Solas said, nodding down the path towards where Sylvie was laughing with Cullen.

“Well, luckily for us, _she_ also happens to be extraordinary.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. The Inquisitor

They had been in Skyhold for three days before the Inquisition gathered in the courtyard to watch as Sylvie Trevelyan was named Inquisitor. There had been a great deal of debate, not about whether to do it or not, but about _who_ had the good fortune to be the one to tell her. Leliana had been suspiciously insistent that it should be Cullen. He had multiple arguments as to why that was a terrible idea without _actually_ stating the real issue- if Sylvie had looked to him with those wide, green eyes and said that she couldn't do it ...well, Cullen had the horrible feeling that he would have simply bundled her into his arms, declaring that they would find an alternative ...if only to protect her. Eventually, as Cullen suspected would happen, Cassandra had finally lost her patience with the matter and volunteered to do it herself.

There had been a tense moment when Sylvie was initially presented with the impractically ornate sword. She had turned sharply to Cassandra and whispered something (Cullen later discovered it had been “Are you insane?”) but whatever the Seeker had said in response had clearly steeled Sylvie's resolve. She brandished the sword skywards and declared that Corypheus had to be stopped. It certainly wasn't a grand speech, Cullen wouldn't have expected one and they had all simply been relieved that she hadn't sworn, however her words had the desired effect.

Cullen had drawn his own sword, turning to the crowd and asking them if they would fight, if they would follow, before turning back to where Sylvie was standing up on the stairs. He had pointed his blade in her direction, declaring her  _their_ leader,  _their_ Inquisitor and the cheers had erupted. Cullen had kept his eyes locked on hers, watching as she most definitely tried to hide a grin. Her expression grew fierce as the crowd grew louder and she thrust the sword upwards again. She had looked ...breathtaking in that short moment and Cullen had found it difficult to look away.

Two days had passed since then and Cullen had found himself in a predicament. He had sorted through his feelings for Sylvie, what felt like a lifetime ago, and decided that once the Breach had been sealed that he would,  _perhaps_ , pursue them. Now though ...there wasn't the mere issue of her being The Herald, she was their leader ... _his_ leader...

“Please be careful- those door frames were only  _just_ installed this morning.” Josephine's voice broke his train of thought and Cullen would have sighed if he wouldn't have had to explain  _why._ It felt like he hadn't had a moment of peace since Haven was attacked, no time to gather his thoughts and plan for what was to come. It was the all the more reason that he was rather anxious to finally be moving into  _his_ tower. Maker only knew where or  _how_ Josephine had sourced furniture that reached Skyhold in a matter of days. Cullen certainly wasn't going to complain as he watched the workers  _carefully_ slide his new desk through the doorway. Josephine followed them into the office and began directing them on where to place it. Cullen left her to it, certain that the Antivan had a much better eye for 'room composition', as she'd called it, than he did.

Leaning on the battlements, Cullen looked out across the glacial valley. They were in a good position here- any approaching enemies could be seen for miles, the Inquisition's archers and mages could easily pick people off from this vantage point and  _if_ anyone should happen to get close enough they only had one point of access across a gated bridge. He nodded to himself- there would be no running from here ...and he wouldn't want to.

A sharp pain pierced across Cullen's forehead, forcing his eyes closed for a brief second. His headache had been particularly ...uncomfortable today and all the hammering, sawing and shouting from the workers was not helping. The sooner his office was deemed appropriately furnished by Josephine, the better. Over all the noise, a bright laughter caught his attention. In spite of his pain and frustration, Cullen felt a smile tugging at his lips in response as he opened his eyes and turned to look for the source of the sound. Squinting against the afternoon sun, Cullen spotted her ...on the roof of what would soon be Skyhold's tavern ...for the love of Andraste what was she doing up  _there_ ?

Cullen crossed the battlements and descended the stairs next to the tavern. Sylvie spotted him, shouting a greeting and waving happily before turning her attention back to the worker beside her on the roof. She was wearing only a green tunic and brown leggings tucked into her boots, cloak no doubt discarded in a pile somewhere. As Cullen reached the bottom of the stairs he could see the sheen of sweat on her forehead, grimy smears all across her face and up her arms. As impressive as she had looked when she was named Inquisitor, Cullen found that seeing her like  _this_ was much more ...agreeable ...much more  _her_ . He spotted Dorian, arms folded, frowning up at the roof and went to stand beside him, mirroring his posture.

“What is she doing up there?” Cullen asked him.

“I'm helping!” Sylvie shouted down, clearly able to hear from where she was standing. Beside him, Dorian sighed.

“Yes, Commander, she's  _helping_ .” Dorian replied, his tone laced with sarcasm. “As you will no doubt recall from mine and Sylvie's tragic display helping with the tents at Haven, neither of us have a great deal of ...practical skills.”

Cullen certainly  _did_ remember that day- the image of Sylvie flushed and tousled, laughing from her seat on the ground, founds it's way into his mind (and sometimes his dreams, when they weren't horrific) more times than he would care to admit.

“So ...now she is trying her hand at roof repair instead?” Cullen quipped, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Dorian.

“She  _did_ try to help with some other repairs. Unsurprisingly, she was positively a danger, to herself  _and_ others, with a hammer in her hand. A fact I'm sure her thumb will happily attest to.  _Then_ she overheard someone saying they required a source of heat to seal the roof tiles.” Dorian looked round to meet Cullen's gaze. “Well, you can imagine Sylvie's great excitement when she discovered that setting things on fire could actually be deemed as helping.” Cullen snorted before glancing back up at Sylvie to check she wasn't paying attention and lowered his voice.

“She hasn't fallen off yet, has she?” He asked quietly and Dorian shook his head.

“Not yet.” He replied, equally as softly. “But like sex in a brothel, it is undoubtedly inevitable.”

“I visited a brother once in Kirkwall and no sex was involved...” Cullen said absently, too distracted by the glow on Sylvie's face from the flames she was casting to notice Dorian's eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“ _You_ visited a brothel?” He asked, voice incredulous. Cullen blinked a few times, dragging his eyes away from Sylvie.

“Hmm? ...oh ...I didn't realise I said that out loud...” Cullen said with a frown. Dorian was smirking at him now, the mage easily figuring out just why he had been so distracted. Cullen sighed, realising he best explain himself lest Dorian spin the brothel information into some lewd tale. “It was part of an investigation into missing Templar recruits. Although, I had little luck questioning the ...young ladies there.” Dorian guffawed, earning them more than a few curious stares.

“Young ladies! That's like putting a saddle on a nug and calling it a halla.” Dorian replied. Cullen couldn't help but chuckle at the other man's analogy ...as unfair as it may have seemed towards the women of The Blooming Rose. Thankfully, as far as Cullen was concerned, a soldier interrupted the conversation.

“Commander, we've received word that the first lot of lyrium has reached Skyhold- it's being brought across the bridge just now.” The man reported and Cullen felt his previous mirth drop from his face. A wave of longing punched through his gut, palms growing damp. He moved his hands to rest on the pommel of his sword to conceal any tremors that may surface. Seeing Sylvie, followed by his easy conversation with Dorian had pushed his earlier cravings to the back on his mind but now ...knowing  _so_ much lyrium was drawing  _so_ close...

“Commander?” The solder asked. Cullen must had been silent longer than he realised. “Where would you like the men to put it?”

“Why don't  _I_ see to it's safe storage?” Dorian interjected. “Maker knows I'm not doing anything of use here ...and I happen to have  _stellar_ organisational skills.” The soldiers looked to the mage before turning back to Cullen for an answer. He cleared his throat and nodded.

“Yes, tell the men to wait a few moments at the gate, Lord Pavus will be with them shortly.” Cullen ordered. The solder saluted and took off. When he was gone, Cullen looked to Dorian with a frown.

“My apologies if I overstepped the mark, Commander.” Dorian said before Cullen could speak. “However you came over all ... _peculiar_ for a second at the mention of the lyrium.”

“I was...” Cullen searched for an excuse for his reaction, “...distracted...”

“I noticed.” Dorian glanced around, dropping his voice. “But it didn't seem like an 'I'm ogling an attractive mage on a roof' sort of distracted...” His sentence hung between them and Cullen held his gaze. He knew that Dorian was an astute man who was rather adept at reading people and Cullen could see in his eyes that he was suspicious. He had a feeling after their conversation about lyrium rationing on the journey to Skyhold that Dorian suspected something was a miss and the mage's behaviour here almost confirmed that fact.

“What are you two whispering about?” Cullen heard Sylvie calling from up on the roof. Dorian looked away, expression immediately reverting to it's usual casual state.

“I was just explaining to our Commander that he is responsible for you not falling off the roof and breaking your neck while I go and attend to something.” Dorian called back. Cullen had a sneaking suspicion that their conversation was far from over but it was at least done for the moment.

“Okay, dinner later? Josephine should finally have let me into my shiny new quarters by then.” Sylvie said, coming over to the edge of the roof. Subconsciously, both Cullen and Dorian moved closer in anticipation for her toppling off.

“I look forward to seeing what decorative perks come from being the Inquisitor.” Dorian replied. “Make sure there's wine ...and not that bitter, Fereldan nonsense you forced upon me last night.” He turned briefly to Cullen, inclining his head in a goodbye before heading towards the stairs down to the main courtyard.

“Where's the ladder gone?” Sylvie asked, frowning down at the ground with her hands on her hips. Cullen looked around, spotting it leaning against some crates. He grabbed it, propping it up against the wall for her.

“Are you coming down?” He asked her, craning his neck to look up. Sylvie nodded in confirmation.

“This part of the roof is finished- we're going to do the rest tomorrow and then the tavern should be good to go.” She replied, turning around and stepping onto the top rung of the ladder. Cullen leaned forward, wrapping his hands around it to hold it steady. He  _very_ swiftly averted his eyes when he realised that he was openly staring at her behind as she descended. “Uh ...Cullen? You can let the ladder go now...”

Cullen looked back round to discover that Sylvie was now almost at the bottom and was practically in his arms. He cleared his throat and took a step back, suddenly feeling the heat of the late afternoon sun much more strongly than before.

“Forgive me, I ...clearly wasn't paying attention...” He said, rubbing the back of his neck as she turned to face him. Up this close she looked even better than she had on the roof. The sun had brought out the freckles across her cheeks, pale skin a little red from the exposure, and her eyes were bright with amusement.

“Clearly.” She replied plainly, grinning at him. “What brought you down here anyway? Did you  _finally_ run out of reports to review?”

“I don't think I will  _ever_ run out of reports to review.” Cullen quipped back, his lips lifting into a smirk. For the most fleeting of moments, he was  _sure_ that Sylvie's eyes had darted down to his mouth. “Josephine commandeered my new office in order to make sure it was suitable for habitation and, since decorating is far from my areas of expertise, I decided to find out why the Inquisitor was climbing around on rooftops.”

“You mean you  _don't_ know about appropriate room composition?” Sylvie said, tone laced with sarcasm and she raised an eyebrow.

“I see you had a similar conversation with Josephine.” Cullen responded with a chuckle. “I don't see why it matters  _where_ my desk is or what wall the bookshelves are on but...” He sighed. “Josephine seems to care a great deal about it so I thought it rude to argue since she  _did_ find us a swift supply of furnishings at the top of a mountain, after all.”

“Do  _you_ know how she did that, by the way?” Sylvie asked, tilting her head curiously. “I swear the woman is some sort of ...decorating apostate.” Cullen laughed again, something he found himself doing in Sylvie's company more than he had at any other point in time over the past years.

“Are you suggesting that 'room composition' is some unknown branch of magic we are unaware of?” He replied. It was Sylvie's turn to laugh this time, a sound that seemed to warm Cullen to his very core ...there was no real questioning it- Inquisitor or not, he wished to have this woman in his life. A both terrifying and exhilarating prospect.

“I've certainly never been to Antiva ...Maker only knows what kind of dark arts they could teach there!” Sylvie joked. She glanced up towards Cullen's tower. “It looks like they're finished up there,” Her eyes fell back to meet his, “Perhaps you'd like some company while you inspect your new office for the first time?” There was the slightest bit of hesitation in her tone, a flicker of doubt in her eyes, as if there were  _any_ way in this world that Cullen was going decline her presence.

“I would like that.” Cullen replied, his words coming out in a tone lower than he intended. He felt his stomach contract as he watched Sylvie bite briefly at her bottom lip. Whatever had gone through her mind was clearly pushed away as she gave him a soft smile and stepped to the side.

“Lead the way, Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like when I'm playing the game, I am thoroughly pleased to finally be at Skyhold and for the romance to really begin! As per usual, huge thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos/subbing :)


	20. This Room Is Too Tidy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading, and for the kudos and the subs. You all put a smile on my normally grumpy face :)

Sylvie stepped passed Cullen and into the dim light and relative coolness of his new office. She may or may not have accidentally-on purpose brushed her hand over his arm as he held open the door for her. She stopped in the middle of the room, hands on her hips as Cullen softly clicked the door shut behind them.

"How can you _already_ have your reports organised on your desk if you haven't been here yet?" She asked, stepping over to the desk in question. It was very neat, almost clinically so ...a far cry from Sylvie's own mound of paperwork that she seemed to have magically acquired since being named Inquisitor.

"Josephine must have taken the liberty of having them brought up." Cullen replied, stepping up beside her. "It will be nice not to have to chase them around the courtyard any time there happens to be a gust of wind." Sylvie laughed, something she did around Cullen much more than she ever thought she would. Sylvie moved away towards the bookcase ...the almost _empty_ bookcase.

"I'll have someone send some more books down from the library." She turned back around surveying the room with a frown. "Everything feels too..."

"Tidy?" Cullen offered, raising an eyebrow. He was smirking at her ... _again._ It was getting more distracting each time he did it and Sylvie found herself, several times in fact, wanting to bite down on his bottom lip. Simply to force him to stop, of course.

"I was going to say empty." Sylvie replied, shaking off her inappropriate lip-nibbling fantasy. "You need more stuff ...oh! I actually have something for you." She rummaged around in the pocket of her leggings, producing a small statue and plopping it in the middle of the desk. Cullen immediately picked it up, holding it surprisingly gently in his hand. He wasn't wearing gloves and Sylvie found herself openly staring at his broad hands and long fingers. She hadn't realised that someone’s _hands_ could even be attractive.

"It's Andraste..." Cullen said, his voice low. Sylvie nodded.

"I found it while cleaning out one of the rooms off of the main hall." She explained. "The gold paint is mostly gone and she's lost her left arm somewhere but ...well, I know how important your faith is to you so I thought you might like it." Cullen sat the small figure back down. Sylvie noticed that he sat it neatly at the corner of the desk, in sight but out of the way- completely the opposite of what she had done with it. He smiled softly and Sylvie thought for a second that she may have melted.

"It's ...lovely ...and very thoughtful." He said, earnestly. "Thank you, Inquisitor." Sylvie snorted and rolled her eyes.

"We're back to using titles, I see." She remarked, taking a step back from him. She _should_ have guessed that Cullen would stop using her name when they made her Inquisitor.

"You're our _leader_ now." Cullen replied, as if Sylvie could have possibly forgotten. "It's different than when you were simply a figure head. As the Commander of what are now _your_ forces, it is more ...appropriate for me to use your title." Sylvie turned away sharply so Cullen didn't see her frowning. She went back to the bookcase, feigning interest in the few tomes it housed.

"There's no one else in the room to hear you, Commander. Surely it doesn't matter here." Her tone was angrier than she meant it to be, although it certainly reflected how she felt. If using her name was suddenly not appropriate then what _else_ had Cullen decided would be inappropriate. Subtly, she tried to take a breath in an attempt to quell her anger- her temper had been significantly shorter since Haven. Something Sylvie would have previously thought impossible.

"If it troubles you then I can return to calling you by your name when ...when we're alone." Cullen said. Sylvie had jumped a little when he spoke, not realising that he had moved to stand so close behind her.

"So ...shall we try that thank you again?" She teased, turning to give him what she hoped was a cheeky grin. He smiled at her in return, inclining his head.

"Thank you ...Sylvie..."

Now, she  _wouldn't_ swear that Cullen did it on purpose but his tone definitely lowered as he said her name. The sound of it was ...seductive and Sylvie was sure that when she shivered slightly the gesture was openly visible. Cullen cleared his throat and moved away from her, rubbing the back of his neck as he went back to stand beside the desk. Oh yes, he  _definitely_ noticed.

"Did you meet with Varric's ' _friend'_ as planned this morning?" Cullen asked, suddenly back to being her Commander again.

"Oh you mean the 'friend' that most definitely is  _not_ Valerie Hawke?" Sylvie replied, joining Cullen by the desk. She hopped up on it, crossing her ankles and letting her feet swing back and forth.

"Yes, that friend." Cullen said, frowning at her. "I don't believe Josephine acquired that desk for sitting on."

"Well it feels sturdy enough." Sylvie remarked, bouncing up and down a few times. The desk didn't so much as creak. "Try it." Cullen sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"I prefer to stand. And I don't want to be the one to tell our Ambassador that I broke the desk in less than hour of it being here." He said plainly. Sylvie rolled her eyes- she would teach this man to be less rigid even if it took years.

"It's not going to break." She huffed. "Just ...come and sit down- live a little." She added with a grin.

"Live a..." Cullen trailed off and snorted, shaking his head as he sat down beside her on the desk. He frowned down at the wooden surface, mimicking Sylvie's previous motion of bouncing up and down. "It  _is_ remarkably sturdy."

Maker preserve her, she wanted to make a joke  _desperately_ . However, she feared that Cullen would turn bright red, leap straight off the desk and out of a window if she so much as hinted at the thoughts running through her head.

"I told you so." She chose to say instead. "Anyway- Varric's friend," She started, absently resting her head on Cullen's shoulder as she had formed a habit of doing. "She, or he, had some important information regarding the Wardens ...and Corypheus. I will brief you all fully on the conversation in the war room tomorrow. I also intended to inform you all that I will be leaving to go to Redcliffe the day after tomorrow." Sylvie felt Cullen's posture stiffen and lifted her head up in order to look at him.

"Redcliffe?" He asked. "I thought it was agreed that we would take at least a fortnight to establish the Inquisition,  _properly_ , in Skyhold before you went back into the field?" Sylvie sighed. This was exactly the response she had been expecting.

"We did ...well, actually, you three advisors ... _advised_ me that that was the plan but..." She hesitated, looking for the correct explanation regarding the letter from Dorian's father. It was a delicate situation, one that wasn't hers to reveal. As much as she was growing to ... _care_ about Cullen, Sylvie was not about to give away any information that could potentially hurt her best friend, not even to Cullen.

"But?" Cullen repeated, an expectant look on his face.

"Something has come up. It is a personal matter, regarding Dorian, not me, and I would rather deal with it as soon as possible." She told him, somewhat evasively. It was clear from his expression that Cullen had multiple questions but he didn't probe for details, he simply nodded.

"I will trust your judgement on the situation." He told her, and Sylvie smiled gratefully. "While you're there, some of the mages reported an ...unpleasant magical energy emanating from a locked house by the docks. No one in Redcliffe seems to want to get too close but it could be important, and a potential threat." Cullen said, getting up from the desk to stand in front of her. "It may be worth investigating. It may also be worthwhile to revisit the places that the Inquisition helped to stabilise- show our presence, show that we were not defeated at Haven." His hands came to rest on the pommel of his sword, warm brown eyes regarding her carefully. "That will make it look as if you are there on Inquisition business and not simply a..." He frowned, glancing away, "personal trip." Sylvie couldn't help the wry chuckle that burst forth.

"You make it sound like I am planning a leisurely vacation." She said, folding her arms. "I can't tell you any details- they're not mine to share- but trust me when I say that I doubt the trip will be even  _remotely_ enjoyable." She looked down at her knees,  _very_ briefly debating the wisdom of the next words out of her mouth. As usual, she gave little heed to her brain and plunged straight in. "Not to mention the fact that I'll ...I'll miss you while I'm gone." She looked up in time to see Cullen glance quickly away from her. Maybe she should have kept her thoughts to herself for once ...maybe he really  _had_ come to a conclusion about their ..whatever it was, now that she was the Inquisitor, and maybe that conclusion wasn't a good one.

"I'll, um ...I'll miss you as well, Sylvie..." Cullen finally replied before quickly clearing his throat. He began to pace back in forth in front of her restlessly. "Since you are heading back into the field in a couple of days, there is something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

Sylvie felt her stomach tangle itself into a hundred knots. Surely they were not about to have the conversation she  _thought_ they were? Her mind went into overdrive as she frantically tried to think of what to say, how to respond. She had assumed that she would have to be the one to initiate this conversation- not have it sprung on her without warning and  _not_ while she was all sweaty and grimy from putting together a roof.

"Cullen ...I..."

"It's about your fighting style." He said pointedly. For a moment it was as if Sylvie's whole body deflated before she blinked at Cullen in confusion.

"My fighting style?" She repeated, realisation suddenly dawned on her and her eyebrows raised. "Oh ...this is about Haven."

"Yes, it's about Haven ...what did  _you_ think I was going to talk about?" Cullen asked, stopping his pacing to frown at her. Sylvie shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant fashion.

"I don't know." She replied weakly. Cullen's cheeks begin to redden, clearly realising what Sylvie had thought he was going to say. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or not. They would need to have a conversation and  _soon_ but she wanted to be prepared for it- Cullen's influence was obviously rubbing off on her. "So ...my fighting style?"

"What? Oh yes ...right." Cullen went back to pacing. "I understand that the Circles rarely, if ever, teach mages how to fight so it is understandable that you have picked up on various styles while in the field with your companions. I noticed a ...flourish in the way you used your staff that wasn't present before, for instance. Dorian's influence, I assume?" Sylvie chuckled and nodded.

"I can't imagine how you guessed that." She said with an eye roll. "But I'm assuming you didn't want to discuss the magical aspect of my fighting at Haven." Cullen stopped pacing, resting his hands on his sword.

"Indeed. The shoulder tackling of an armoured opponent ...the way you ran straight at the Templar who had me on the ground ...you are  _not_ a Qunari mercenary and you  _really_ should not be trying to fight like one." Cullen quirked an eyebrow, his mouth smirking just a little to indicate that he wasn't  _exactly_ giving her a lecture.

"I'm not? Well, what a dream crusher you are." Sylvie quipped back and Cullen snorted in amusement. "What do you propose, Commander?"

"I would like you to spend some time properly learning how a mage should conduct herself in battle- where to stand, how to react and how to defend yourself at close range if and  _only_ if it becomes necessary. I have a few Lieutenants in mind for the task..."

"Lieutenants?" Sylvie interrupted, frowning. "Why not you?"

"Me? I don't think..." Cullen sighed and folded his arms across his chest. "If you would  _prefer_ that it was me then it can be arranged." Sylvie tried, and failed, not to smile at him. Just the thought of having an excuse to spend time with Cullen  _and_ probably get very up close and personal with him sent a thrilling tingle right down to the tips of her toes.

"I would." She replied simply. "Perhaps tomorrow morning? That way you can at least impart some of your wisdom before I leave." Cullen nodded, a small smile on his lips. Sylvie wondered if he was looking forward to it as much as she was ...and for the same reasons. He opened his mouth to say something but the door swung open dramatically, bouncing off the wall.

"Oh, hello, Sylvie- I didn't see you on the tavern roof and feared the worst." Dorian remarked as he stepped into the office, looking around and appraising the surroundings. "But I see you're still in one piece ...are you quite comfortable up there on the desk?"

"As a matter of fact I am." Sylvie replied. "The desk feels very  _sturdy_ ." Cullen wasn't looking at her so he didn't notice the way she waggled her eyebrows at Dorian. The other mage would easily follow her line of thinking, a fact made clear by the brief twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Well I am afraid that I have some things to discuss with the Commander so it may be wise for you to hop on out ...perhaps take a bath?" He suggested, wrinkling his nose exaggeratedly. Sylvie frowned and stood up.

"What do you need to talk about that I can't be here for?" She asked, eyes narrowed in accusation.

"Dorian organised the storage of the Inquisition's new lyrium supply for me." Cullen interjected. "I am sure he was simply just assuming that the details would bore you." Sylvie looked between the two men. There was something going on and they seemed to think that they could easily palm her off with excuses. Well that was perfectly fine with her, they wouldn't be able to keep it from her for long.

"He assumed correctly." Sylvie replied with a smile. "And I do  _really_ need to take a bath. I will meet you tomorrow morning at the stables, Commander?" Cullen nodded and smiled but it looked more strained than it had before, there was the slightest sheen of sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as well. Yes, something was definitely going on and her best friend and her ... her Cullen... were keeping her out of it. "I'll see you later, Dorian."

Sylvie stepped out of the office and the door was quickly shut behind her. She squinted against the setting sun and made her way across the bridge towards the rotunda. If those two wanted her to be the silly Sylvie who takes everything at face value then she would do that ...for now. Besides, she had a training session with an extraordinarily handsome soldier to look forward to.

 

\---

 

"No, no, no ...you need to react quicker- if that arrow were a real arrow you'd be dead."

Sylvie scowled and rubbed at her face where the blunted arrow had struck her square in the forehead. She was enjoying her training session with Cullen less and less with every passing minute. She watched as he lowered the bow he was holding.

"My reactions are slow and I can't help it!" She shouted across the snow at him. They had descended the path from Skyhold just after sunrise, hoping that the empty plateaux at the bottom of the hill would afford them both space and privacy.

"You can." He snapped back. Cullen had always come across as a man of infinite patience but apparently Sylvie was able to test that patience quite effectively. They had begun her training with her learning where to stand during a battle, how to choose targets quickly under pressure and how to keep her distance and find cover when needs be. She'd been pleased to discover that she was a quick study, although Jim the training dummy was probably less than thrilled with his newly found, charred state. Now they were onto dodging projectiles and Sylvie was failing miserably.

"I can't!" Sylvie shouted. "Anyway, I don't need to avoid arrows- that's what barriers are for." She could see Cullen scrunch his eyes shut in frustration as he rubbed his forehead. He sat the bow down on the ground and walked towards her.

"What if your barrier isn't up? What if your barrier fails?" He asked as he stood in front of her. He had discarded his cloak and sword belt, placing them neatly over a rock and Sylvie had found herself wondering just how many articles of clothing she could get him to remove over the next few hours of training.

"My barriers don't fail." Sylvie scoffed, folding her arms defensively. Cullen frowned at her, mirroring her posture.

"Perhaps they haven't yet but one day they might and then you leave yourself open to being peppered with arrows if you don't learn to dodge." He said through gritted teeth. "What is it that is causing you problems?" Cullen asked, his aggravated tone dissipating into something more understanding. He was a good teacher, Sylvie was just a hopeless student who had found the sight of Cullen wielding a bow ridiculously attractive. The way his fingers wrapped around the grip of the weapon ...the focus in his narrowed brown eyes when he nocked the arrow and pulled the bow string taught ...and then the dull thud as the blunted arrow struck her.

"It's just..." Sylvie looked up at the sky, hoping to find an excuse perhaps scribbled on the underside of a cloud. There wasn't one. "I've always had slow reaction times, nothing I seem to do makes them any better." Cullen probably didn't need to know that his handsome face was just too damned distracting and it was making her already terrible reactions worse.

"Perhaps we should just move on to something else." He said with a sigh before he smiled at her. "You've probably taken enough arrows to the face for one day." He absently brought up his hand and brushed his fingers over the bruise that Sylvie could feel forming on her forehead. "I didn't hurt you ...did I?" He asked, voice low.

"You've seen me with worse head wounds." Sylvie replied lightly, swallowing passed the lump in her throat. "What's the next lesson, Commander?" He took a step back, making his way over to the equipment that they had brought with them and picking up a dulled practice sword.

"Hand to hand combat." He eventually replied. "You need to know the easiest way to defend yourself should an enemy get too close or disarm you." He came back over and in the blink of an eye, flicked out the sword and knocked the staff from her hand. She watched as it clattered to the ground and rolled away. Cullen raised an eyebrow at her. "Now what would you do?" Sylvie bit the inside of her cheek before swinging out her fist. Cullen caught it easily, his hand almost completely engulfing hers. He, more gently than a real enemy would, twisted her arm behind her back and turned her around, bringing his blade to her throat. "Now you're dead." He said, releasing her. "Try again."

Sylvie thought about it again for a moment, this time choosing to kick out at his unarmoured shin, making sure to not actually hit him too hard. Cullen made a good show of staggering backwards and Sylvie dived towards her fallen staff. Cullen had recovered quickly, sticking out his foot to trip her up. She went down, face first, her fingers within touching distance of her weapon. She grabbed it, rolling onto her back and bringing the staff up just in time to block the swing from Cullen's sword.

"Good." He said with a nod. "Your reactions might be slow but your instincts are sound." Sylvie didn't say anything, simply grinned up at him wickedly. A frown began to form between his eyebrows at her expression but before he could open his mouth to speak, Sylvie used her leg to unbalance Cullen and he toppled forwards. What Sylvie hadn't planned for, was just quite how  _much_ Cullen would be surprised by her action and he landed heavily on top of her. They both 'oofed' in response as the wind was knocked out of them. Sylvie began to laugh instantly.

"That probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had." She chuckled and Cullen groaned, lifting up his head from where it had collided with her shoulder.

"Not at all." He deadpanned. "I'd recommend  _not_ making an enemy fall on top of you on purpose." He said with a chuckle of his own. The sound died on his lips when their eyes met. He had clearly realised the situation that they were in at the exact moment it also dawned on Sylvie that Cullen was  _on top_ of her. He was heavy, especially since he was armoured, but the weight of him on top of her felt ...so  _so_ much better than she would have imagined. Cullen shifted around as he put his hands on the ground in order to push himself back onto his feet. Sylvie couldn't help it- her breathing audibly hitched at the movement and Cullen suddenly went very still.

"I ...I should get up..." Cullen mumbled, he made no obvious signs of moving. Sylvie swallowed heavily, unconsciously tilting her head. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, there was no way that Cullen couldn't feel it. Warmth was pooling in her stomach and in  _significantly_ lower body parts as she bit her bottom lip.

"You ...yes, I suppose you probably should..." She replied, voice hoarse even to her own ears. She left it unsaid that she absolutely did  _not_ want him to get off of her. Cullen hesitated, ever so briefly, before slowly hauling himself to his feet. Sylvie almost groaned in frustration at the loss of contact, missing the weight of his body already. She took the hand that Cullen offered and let herself be pulled to her feet. He tenderly tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing lightly across her cheek when he pulled his hand away.

"Perhaps..." He cleared his throat, voice returning to closer to its normal tone when he spoke again. "Perhaps it is time that we return to Skyhold. You must still have much to prepare before you leave tomorrow." He seemed to be determinedly  _not_ looking at her, eyes focussed on the gates of Skyhold up the path behind her.

"You know me too well," Sylvie replied, smiling, "I actually still have  _everything_ to prepare." Cullen snorted and shook his head, a wry smile playing over his lips.

"Then we should get back." He said, walking away and starting to gather up everything that they had brought down with them.

Sylvie openly watched him for a few moments before sighing, realising that she should be helping and not staring. She would have happily stayed down here for hours more, just  _being_ with him but there  _was_ a war going on, she reminded herself. Not to mention the fact that Dorian was absolutely going to  _love_ this story. She made a promise to herself as she pulled on her cloak and picked up her staff, watching Cullen buckling on his sword belt out the corner of her eye- once she got back from Redcliffe it would be time for the talk, now she just needed to figure out  _what_ that talk was going to involve.

 


	21. Maraas-Lok

Cullen awoke with a start, the sky still tinged with darkness and his body shaking from his nightmare. He took some time to compose himself, feet firmly on the ground and his face in his hands before he was able to stand on trembling legs and remind himself that it was just a dream.

The nightmare itself was unsurprising, without lyrium they were growing worse, and the actual content of it was equally as predictable given the thoughts that had been on his mind as he had drifted towards sleep. Cullen's mind had been wandering towards Sylvie ...much like it had done for the entire thirteen days that she had been gone from Skyhold. Last night he had been remembering their training session as he had been slipping to sleep. Specifically, it had been the feel of her beneath him after she had tripped him up that he had been thinking about- the way her breath had hitched as he had adjusted his body ...the way he could  _feel_ the frantic beating of her heart against his armoured chest...

His subconscious had taken that image, twisting it into something grotesque. He had been on top of her, the soft skin of her hips pliant beneath his fingers. She had looked down at him, carding her fingers through his hair while he inhaled the scent of her skin between her breasts. He had glanced up at her only to find her green eyes slowly dulling until they were flat, black pits. Her voice had begun to echo, changing pitch until it was shrill mockery of itself as she asked him what was wrong. Her skin had transformed from creamy white to dusky purple as he could only look on with horror. Some blessed part of him had known at that point to force his mind awake, just before Sylvie's form could fully melt into that of a desire demon.

Cullen tried his best to shake the image from his mind, rinsing the sweat from his body in the icy water from the nearby basin. He dressed quickly, a part of him wanting to put as much distance between himself and his bed as possible, and made his way out onto the battlements and down into the courtyard. The night watches were still on duty, the occasional scout passing by as Cullen stopped at the training dummies and drew his sword. Taking a deep breath of the cold morning air, he began to set to work, old training routines running over and over in his head.

Sweat began to bead on Cullen's forehead as he swung his sword, hacking splinters from the torso of the training dummy. Left, right, left, right ...step back, pivot, swing. He repeated it over and over again, focussing on the words, the movements, instead of the burning nausea in the back of his throat.

Left, right, left, right ..step back. Pivot. Swing.

He had been at the exercises longer than he realised, the sun now coming over the yard and Cullen let his arm drop to his side, catching his breath as he squinted against the morning light. His mind felt clearer than it had when he had awoken, exercise and routine  _almost_ pushing the nightmare from his head. Sheathing his sword and pulling his cloak back on, Cullen headed down the stairs to the garden, making his way into the small, make-shift Chantry. Cullen closed the door behind himself before dropping to one knee in front of the statue of Andraste.

The man he was ten years, even five years ago, would have baulked at the idea of desiring a mage ...of  _falling_ for a mage. Upon awakening,  _that_ Cullen would have dropped to the floor to beg the Maker for forgiveness before forcibly stopping himself from thinking about the mage in such a fashion ever again. Now, however, Cullen was doing everything in his power  _not_ to be the man he once was. The constant sting of lyrium withdrawal was testament to that. In an attempt to further calm the whirling thoughts still flowing chaotically through his mind, Cullen lowered his voice in prayer.

"My Creator, judge me whole:

Find me well within Your grace

Touch me with fire that I be cleansed

Tell me I have sung to Your approval

 

O Maker, hear my cry:

Seat me by Your side in death

Make me one within Your glory

And let the world once more see Your favor

 

For You are the fire at the heart of the world

And comfort is only Yours to give."

 

Cullen kept his forehead resting on his knuckles, eyes tightly closed as the last lines of the verse rang in his head. Fire had never been something to trigger any great significance in his mind- it could heat a room or burn it down depending on how it was used- until Sylvie came into his life. Now, every fireplace, every candle, made him think of her and like any other flame, she could be his warmth or his destruction depending on how he chose to handle  _her._

Sighing, Cullen stood up slowly, over-worked muscles straining in protest. He was  _not_ that tortured young Templar any longer. He was  _not_ the man he used to be and he would not be him again. It was in the past. It was over and by the Maker's will he had survived. Nodding to himself, he turned and left the Chantry only to find a messenger standing patiently by the door.

“Commander.” The woman said curtly with a salute. “Sister Leliana has requested your presence in the war room.”

“Thank you.” Cullen replied, nodding to the messenger before he turned to leave.

 

\- - -

 

“She's done _what_?” Josephine's incredulous tone echoed around the war room. Cullen imagined that the expression of his face accurately mirrored the Ambassador's reaction.

“The Inquisitor has slain a dragon.” Leliana repeated, amusement playing across her lips.

“Are you  _sure?_ ” Cullen asked, folding his arms. “Perhaps the story has been ...blown out of proportion.”

“Yes!” Josephine agreed, pointing her quill in Cullen's direction. “It could have been something ...smaller and the tale has simply grown before it reached us.” Leliana shook her head in response.

“I have scouts watching the mountain path. One of them returned to Skyhold to report that the Inquisitor was on her way, two horses pulling a card laden with dragon bone.”

“She's almost here?” Cullen blurted out before he could stop himself, immediately feeling his cheeks start to burn when both women turned to scrutinise him. “I mean ...I just thought we would have more notice.”

“Not a fan of surprises, Commander?” Leliana quipped. Out of the corner of his eyes, Cullen could see Josephine trying to conceal her smile behind her ledger.

“Not really, no.” He all but grumbled under his breath. He  _also_ didn't enjoy being a source of amusement for the Ambassador and Spymaster but he kept that to himself lest it invite further, probably relentless, teasing.

“When will the Inquisitor arrive?” Josephine asked, deflecting the attention from him.

“They will be here by midday.” Leliana replied, scrutinising eyes watching Cullen for a reaction. He refused to give her the satisfaction and kept his expression neutral ...at least he  _hoped_ that he did.

“I will meet them in the courtyard.” Josephine began, scribbling things on her ledger. “If they really  _have_ killed a dragon then the remains will need to be appropriately catalogued and stored. Just  _think_ what this will do for the Inquisition's reputation.” She looked up, smiling brightly and eyes glittering with the imagined possibilities as she stepped around the war table and hurried out the room. Cullen watched her leave before looking back across the room to Leliana.

“Aren't  _you_ going to wait in the courtyard for the Inquisitor?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I'm sure Josephine will bring her to the war room shortly after she arrives.” Cullen folded his arms across his chest. “I am certain that I can wait until then.”

 

\- - -

 

A few hours later, Cullen was beginning to regret his decision not to join the inevitable throng of people waiting in the courtyard. He had returned to his morning duties and had been in the armoury when word reached him of Sylvie's arrival. Now, standing by the war table under Leliana's amused gaze, it felt like time had slowed to a standstill. Joesphine _knew_ that they would be waiting so what in the Maker's name could be taking so long?

“Feeling impatient?” Leliana eventually said with a light chuckle. Cullen opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the door opening. Josephine entered the war room with Sylvie close behind her.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen said, eager even to his own ears. “We were just...”

“Eagerly awaiting your presence,” Leliana cut in, “ _some_ of us more than others.” Sylvie looked between the two of them, a small grin on her face when she realised that Cullen was on the receiving end of some teasing. Cullen fought the urge to groan- these women were much more likely to drive him to an early grave than any enemy was.

“It's nice to know I was missed.” Sylvie quipped, eyes meeting Cullen's across the table. For the briefest of moments, the eyes that stared back at him were as black as his nightmare but he pushed it down and took in the sight of her ...the  _real_ her. She was still armoured, long, sleeveless coat of dark rams leather flowing down past her knees and her staff still slung across her back. Strands of her brown hair had come loose from her bun, as they so often did, and Cullen felt the almost overwhelming urge to brush them behind her ears. Absently, he realised that the women had begun to speak and he hastened to catch up with the conversation.

“It was too close to several populated areas.” Sylvie was saying, clearly mid-discussion about her decision to track down a dragon. “I  _know_ it was a huge risk but we couldn't just leave a danger like that roaming around the Hinterlands ... _and_ dragon slaying is surely excellent for the Inquisition's reputation.” She grinned across the table at Josephine who returned the gesture with a nod and a smile. It was then that Cullen noticed that Sylvie was holding herself differently, her posture more slouched than usual. Every so often, she would begin to straighten and one hand would reflexively reach up to rest across her ribs.

“The fight went smoothly?” Cullen asked, crossing his arms across his chest. Sylvie turned her gaze to him. Green eyes, he reminded himself- not black.

“Fairly smoothly, yes.” She replied, leaning on the war table. “Bull got a few burns, Dorian ruined some  _more_ robes and Blackwall received a pretty nasty gash on his arm but a local healer patched them all up ...including the robes actually.” She gave him a slight smirk across the table. “I am, however, pleased to report that all spectacular facial survived the encounter unscathed.” Leliana chuckled at the quip but Cullen felt his eyes narrow just a fraction. He didn't believe for a moment that  _she_ of all people made it out of the fight uninjured ...especially considering the way she was favouring her ribs.

“What of the strange magic in the house at Redcliffe?” Leliana asked. Cullen watched as Sylvie's face instantly fell, jaw clenched as she averted her gaze.

“I would rather ...put it into a report.” Sylvie said quietly, fingers tracing patterns on the wood of the war table. “It was an ...unpleasant discovery. If you hear word of the Inquisitor vomiting into a bush, well I am afraid that's true.” She looked up and gave them a rueful smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. Cullen could almost feel his arms twitch with the need to pull her close ...to comfort her.

“I was thinking we should have a banquet of sorts this evening.” Josephine told them, swiftly changing the subject. “There are a few visiting dignitaries in Skyhold and it would be prudent to have a celebration of your dragon slaying, perhaps have some of the bones you brought back displayed in the great hall for the duration of the evening.”

“And of course I would be expected to attend?” Sylvie said with a sigh, barely concealing a wince of pain as she straightened up. “There goes my plan of getting drunk in the tavern.”

“You're attendance  _will_ be expected.” Josephine agreed. “However if you were to, perhaps, have to excuse yourself early due to fatigue after your trip then I'm  _sure_ everyone would understand.” Sylvie positively beamed across the table at the Ambassador, the grin infectiously spreading itself to both Cullen and Leliana.

"It _was_ a very tiring trip.” Sylvie said with a nod. “I'm assuming you'll send something appropriate for me to wear up to my quarters?” Josephine inclined her head in agreement. “Well if that's everything for now, I suppose I best get myself cleaned up for this evening and work on those reports. I'd never expected this much bloody paperwork when trying to save the world.” She shook her head, corner of her mouth pulled into the smallest of smirks. Leliana and Josephine both made to leave the room and Cullen cleared his throat.

“A moment, Inquisitor?” He asked. Sylvie frowned a little, folding her arms across her chest.

“Of course, Commander.”

Cullen waited until Josephine and Leliana left the room and closed the door, the former giving him an amused look as she passed by, before turning his attention back to Sylvie. He stepped around to her side of the table, positioning himself in front of her. Having her back here in such close proximity was making Cullen's stomach constrict in a not  _entirely_ unpleasant fashion.

“Is something wrong?” Sylvie asked, leaning back against the war table.

“The injuries you reported from the fight with the dragon- you mentioned nothing of yourself...” He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword, watching as Sylvie's green eyes narrowed suspiciously at his line of thinking.

“I kept our training in mind and behaved like a good little mage.” She replied quickly. Cullen raised an eyebrow at her.

“That is good to hear ...stand up straight.”

“What?” Her expression changed to one of confusion, frowning at his words. “I am perfectly comfortable leaning, thank you.” Cullen snorted, taking a step towards her.

“You are  _comfortable_ leaning because you've injured your ribs.” He replied. Sylvie rolled her eyes, hugging her arms tighter around herself.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” She averted her gaze, becoming fixated on the nearby window. “If I was injured what reason would I have not to tell you?  _And_ if I had hurt my ribs then surely I would have had them healed.”

“That would make sense, yes …lift up your tunic.” Cullen spoke before he  _truly_ thought about his choice of phrase. Sylvie's eyes snapped round to meet his, a smirk on her lips.

“Commander! I hardly think this is the place...”

“Oh for Maker's sake...” Cullen groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “That's not what I ...I simply meant- let me see your ribs.” He could feel the warmth in his cheeks as the fleeting image of pushing her backwards onto the war table came unbidden into his mind. Cullen tried to push the thought away for now, he was  _attempting_ to have a serious conversation but that was a task that regularly seemed difficult when he was around Sylvie.

“Fine...” She eventually said, sighing as she pulled back her jacket and tugged up the hem of her tunic. Pointedly, Sylvie looked away from him, lips pressed into a thin line. Cullen took another step closer, leaning down slightly to take a proper look at her injuries. The pale skin across her ribs was mottled in hues of purple, several raised welts in a circular pattern across one of her sides.

“This wound is from a mace...” Cullen said softly, eyes flicking up to look at Sylvie's face. She was still making a point of not looking at him.

“I  _did_ say I wasn't injured in the fight with the dragon. This was from a group of Venatori on the way out of the Hinterlands.” She admitted, looking down at him as he straightened back up to full height.

“Can I assume that you didn't stay out of the way?” Cullen asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Sylvie at least had the grace to look sheepish.

“I was ...angry...” She said softly. Cullen resisted the urge to point out that she was  _often_ angry at something when he saw the pained expression on her face. “Do you remember me telling you all about the skulls perched on staffs that make strange shards glow when you look through them?”

“I believe Sera referred to them as 'creepy arse magicy bullshite'.” Cullen replied, earning him a small snort of amusement from Sylvie.

“We found out how they are made and that Alexius had instructed the Venatori to use them and make more ... _that's_ what was in the house in Redcliffe. There were texts, notes and rows upon rows of the skulls inside.” Sylvie blew out a long puff of air, clenching her jaw tight. Cullen kept silent, despite the questions on his lips, and let her gather her thoughts. “According to one of the books ...when a Tranquil is taken near one of the shards, they will become possessed by a demon and if the Tranquil is killed quick enough ...then their skull can be used to illuminate more shards...”

“Maker's breath...” Cullen felt a wave of revulsion pass over him. The Rite of Tranquillity in itself was something he did not like to think on. Many considered it a necessary evil and, under Meredith's command, Cullen himself had administered the brand for the most questionable of reasons ...another piece of his history he would never be able to erase. But this ...this  _sacrifice_ of defenceless people in the name of magical artifacts was a whole new level of horrific.

“I had wondered why there were so few Tranquil among the rebel mages ...or anywhere for that matter.” Sylvie continued, turning her eyes back to Cullen. Her gaze was  _burning_ with that rage that he had seen before, her temper bubbling just below the surface. “ I know a lot of them were abandoned when the Circles fell- too much of an  _inconvenience_ for everyone else... ” She pushed herself off the war table, pulling her tunic down as she stepped around Cullen and began to pace. “ But  _this ..._ those hollow fucking eye sockets staring at me from the shelves ...  _someone_ should have protected them! The Senior Enchanters ...other mages ...apprentices ...the fucking  _Templars_ ...” She spat, hands clenched into fists briefly before she stopped pacing, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she took in a shaky breath. Cullen took a hesitant step towards her. The last time he had seen Sylvie rant like this she had sent flames hurtling towards the ground. When she didn't appear to move or seem in any danger of setting the room aflame, Cullen closed the distance between them and cupped her chin between his fingers.

“You're right...” He said, thumb brushing back and forth across her skin. “...the Circles, the Chantry, the Order ...every one of them has failed in some way. It's why we're all here- to try to set things right.” Sylvie met his gaze, green eyes wet with tears that hadn't quite fallen.

“There's just so much ...bullshit to fix...” She said quietly. “You  _really_ think we can do it?”

“I wouldn't be with the Inquisition if I didn't.” Cullen replied firmly. Sylvie nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling herself in close. She rested her head on his shoulder and, without thinking, Cullen pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“Will you be coming to Josephine's fancy banquet?” She asked, voice slightly muffled against his neck. The ghosting of her breath across his skin was sending jolts down his spine and Cullen had to suppress more than one shudder.

“I believe I have a lot of reports to attend to.” Cullen replied with a snort. Sylvie chuckled, pulling back a little to look at him.

“I thought you were a brave man, Commander.” She teased.

“Bravery has its limits.” He quipped back, absently pushing the hair from Sylvie's face.

“Maybe you'll come to the tavern later, then?” She asked, tilting her head as she disengaged herself from his embrace. Cullen felt the loss of her warmth immediately.

“I could perhaps manage that...”

 

\- - -

 

Sylvie had been right- there was a ridiculous amount of paperwork involved in saving the world. After they had left the war room, Cullen had returned to his office, bidding Sylvie goodbye in the rotunda as she made her way up the stairs to speak with Dorian. He would almost _swear_ that the amount of reports on his desk had doubled since that morning so he had sat down wearily, ignoring the headache blossoming behind his eyes, and begun to work his way through them.

The sputtering of a candle jerked his attention from the parchment in his hand. Cullen looked up, noting with some surprise that the candle on his desk had almost completely burned down. Rubbing his eyes, he leant back in his chair. Time, it would seem, had gotten away from him, the sky now dark as pitch through the slim windows of his office. He  _had_ truly intended to show face in the tavern like Sylvie had suggested but one report seemed to have led on to another. He supposed she wouldn't be there any more...

His work had helped keep him focussed, helped keep his mind off the way she felt as she once again ended up in his arms. They needed to have a conversation about this ... _thing_ between them. Word should soon reach them of Hawke's arrival in Crestwood and then Sylvie would be gone again and for even longer this time. Having this linger between them ...having it fester and distract them ...it wasn't good for either of them. Until the questions were asked, Cullen would keep finding himself wondering ...dreaming ...  _fantasising..._

With a sigh, Cullen placed the report he was holding on top of a pile and pushed himself to his feet. A walk around the battlements would surely clear his head and give him the chance, free of his duties, to think of some sort of plan for his conversation with Sylvie.

The night air was brisk, refreshing on his senses as Cullen took a deep breath and began to walk. There would be people who would call it a mistake for the Inquisitor and her Commander to be any more than professional with each other. Part of Cullen thought they may be right but the other part of him, the part that loved to hear her laugh, see her smile, hold her in his arms ... _that_ part of him was much more insistent. From a  _practical_ point of view, the two of them had the potential to be a solid team. She was headstrong and impulsive. He was more calculating, more cautious. They could be good for one another ...  _she_ could be good for him. Yes, he would talk to her ...tomorrow, perhaps, and assuming she felt the same then they could take it from there.

Cullen descended the stairs into the courtyard, planning to make another trip to the gardens and the Chantry before he retired for the night when he caught the sound of Iron Bull's raucous laughter coming from the tavern. His heart thumped in his chest when it was followed by Sylvie's familiar chuckle. Hesitating briefly at the tavern door, Cullen steeled his resolve and pushed his way inside.

The heat from the fireplaces hit him instantly as he looked around. It was almost completely empty inside, most of the patrons already having retired for the evening. There were a few people tucked away in darkened corners and it wasn't until Cullen's eyes swept over the bar that he spotted Sylvie perched somewhat precariously on a stool.

“Commander!” Bull called across the room, raising his tankard in Cullen's direction. Sylvie swivelled around on her stool and would have toppled straight off of it had Bull not grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Cullen!” She shouted, grinning at him as he walked towards them. “You came after all!” H er cheeks and neck were flushed, eyes a little out of focus. Her hair was down for a change, brushing just passed her shoulders as it swayed with her movements. Cullen smirked as he stepped up beside her.

“Inquisitor,” He began, inclining his head, "I see you managed to escape from Josephine's banquet." Sylvie made a noise of disgust that Cullen could only assume she had learned from Cassandra.

"Cullen, it was _so_ boring!" She said dramatically, waving her tankard around and sloshing some of the vile liquid onto the floor. "Those nobles and dignitaries _actually_ made talking about fighting a fucking _dragon_ unenjoyable! Josephine may be the most wonderful woman in the world for being able to deal with that shit every day." She took a mouthful of her drink, screwing up her face before spluttering. Her speech was more than a little slurred and Cullen found it more endearing that he probably should have.

“I suppose you have been here awhile?” He asked. Bull let out a sharp bark of laughter, slamming his hand on the bar.

“What gave it away?” The Qunari said, taking a long pull of his drink. Cullen could smell the strength of the alcohol from where he was standing. He wasn't exactly sure how much of the stuff Sylvie had drunk but was almost impressed that she was still conscious.

“Bull gave me this ...this...” Sylvie looked down into her tankard with a frown.

“Maraas-lok.” Bull interrupted helpfully.

“Yes! That!” She exclaimed, smiling. “Said it would put some chest on my chest.”

“Not that she needs any help in that department, right, Commander?” Bull said, winking at him. Sylvie looked at Cullen with a grin and he felt his ears begin to burn.

“I ...well, I suppose...” He rubbed the back of his neck absently. Maker's breath, he should have just gone to bed.

“Try some...” Sylvie said, thrusting her tankard at him. Cullen shook his head, pushing the offered drink away gently. “It tastes like fire and ...burning.” Beside them, Bull laughed heartily at Sylvie's description of the drink.

“As ...pleasant as that sounds, I think I will decline.” Cullen replied. Sylvie simply shrugged and put the tankard to her mouth.

“Suit yourself.” She took a long drink, immediately dissolving into another coughing fit. She sat the tankard down heavily on the bar, swaying dangerously on her stool. Cullen put a hand on her shoulder to brace her. “Thanks ...maybe it's time for bed...” She met his gaze then and Cullen had to swallow passed the lump in his throat at the look that flashed across her eyes. He felt himself flush even further than he had been already at the unconcealed  _desire_ in her expression. Cullen firmly reminded himself that she was completely drunk. Shakily, Sylvie got off the stool, almost stumbling as she took her first step forward.

“Perhaps ...perhaps I should make sure you reach your quarters without falling over and breaking something?” Cullen said. Sylvie chuckled, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“I  _do_ fall down a lot sober ...Maker knows how much I'll fall down when I'm drunk.” She leaned heavily on him as Cullen began to manoeuvre her towards the door.

“Bye, Bull!” She shouted over her shoulder before they made their way outside. Cullen wrapped his arm loosely around Sylvie's waist to hold her steady, their progress across the courtyard painfully slow. Her fingers were clutching at the fur of his mantle but every so often, Cullen would feel them move to brush ever so slightly up the back of his neck. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks for all the years of practised self-control. If the situation were different ...if Sylvie hadn't been intoxicated ...Cullen would have been hard pressed not to spin her around and kiss her until she was breathless in his arms whether they had had a conversation about their relationship or not. Cullen took a deep breath, focussing on the task at hand- getting an extremely drunken Inquisitor up the stairs to the hall.

Thankfully for them, the great hall was now empty and they made their way unhindered to the door of Sylvie's quarters. She had been surprisingly silent on their journey, apart from the occasional hiccup and remained so as they ascended the stairs to her room.

It was ...a mess. Cullen looked around, bewildered, at the all the books, trinkets and clothes scattered across the floor. The desk in the corner of the room was barely visible for all the ... _stuff_ on it.

“I know, I know...” Sylvie said, waving a hand around. “It's not very  _organised_ .” Cullen snorted, letting Sylvie go as she wriggled free of his grip.

“Not organised? That's ...one way of describing it.” Another way would be 'absolute disaster' but Cullen kept that to himself. It looked like someone had loosed a bronto inside. He watched as Sylvie bent over to remove one of her boots, his eyes drifting more than once over her rear as she struggled with the laces.

She began, unsurprisingly, to topple over and Cullen reflexively reached out to grab her arm. Her lack of balance pulled her against him, her hips pressed against his. He felt his fingers tighten on her arm at the sound of her breath hitching ...the same way it had during their training session. She was close enough for Cullen to smell the alcohol on her breath and the scent brought his mind back into focus. Gently, he took a step back from her, desperately ignoring his body's reaction to her closeness. Sylvie glanced away, sighing a little as she stumbled towards her bed and plopped herself down on it. She raised her leg, pointing her foot at Cullen.

“Can you help?” She asked, indicating to her boot. Cullen couldn't help but chuckle as he knelt down in front of her and unfastened the laces, pulling the boot off. He swiftly did the same with the other one, sitting them neatly together beside the bed. “Thank you...” Sylvie mumbled while she slid backwards, lying down against her pillows. Her eyes were already drifting shut, blinking back open to look at him every so often as she sleepily pulled the bed covers around herself like a cocoon.

Against his better judgement, Cullen leaned over the bed to brush the hair from Sylvie's face, only hesitating briefly before he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. He smiled when he heard her hum in contentment.

“Taarsidath-an halsaam...”

Cullen stood up, eyebrow raised at Sylvie even though she couldn't see it.

“I didn't know you spoke Qunlat now.” He chuckled. Sylvie 'hmm-ed' sleepily, turning over onto her side and burying herself deeper into her pillows.

“Something ...Bull ...said...” She mumbled before her breathing began to even out, indicating that the fade had finally claimed her. Cullen shook his head with a smile, turning to leave the room. As an afterthought, he went into the nearby cupboard and grabbed a large pail, placing it at the side of the bed. Josephine would  _not_ be pleased if Sylvie threw up all over the new carpet.

He made his way down the stairs and back towards his own tower, making a mental note to find out just what Qunlat phrases Bull had been teaching Sylvie.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! I know that these two have be planning to talk for what feels like forever, just hang on- we're almost there! As always, kudos/subs/comments make me do a little dance of glee.


	22. We Need To Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian now has his own side-fic, [The Last Resort of Good Men](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5072083) which takes place 'off screen' during the last chapter when Sylvie kept everyone waiting for her in the war room.

 

She was clearly inches from death. Corypheus must have swooped in during the night to kidnap and torture her- it was the only obvious explanation for the pounding in Sylvie's head and the almost uncontrollable urge to vomit. Curiously, wherever she was was remarkably comfortable but she didn't quite feel equipped yet to open her eyes. Ever so gently, Sylvie shifted her body and tried to de-tangle herself from whatever it was that was wrapped around her legs. As she rolled slowly onto her front, the softness beneath her disappeared and, seemingly in slow motion, Sylvie fell face first onto the floor. Her face collided with something metal that fell over with a clang before it rolled away.

With a groan, she opened her dry eyes blearily and looked around only to be greeted by the underside of her bed to her left and an upturned bucket to her right. Sylvie flipped onto her back and scrunched her eyes shut in an attempt to ward off the nausea that washed over her at the movement. How in the name of Andraste's holy knickers had she ended up in her bed?

She remembered ...very little, actually. There was the banquet with the dignitaries and all the fawning over the dragon bits ...she had escaped to the tavern and begun to celebrate in a much more effective fashion if her hangover was anything to go by. Bull had given her some hideous Qunari beverage and then ...nothing. Her memory after that was complete and utter blankness. It would probably come back to her eventually and if not, someone would surely fill in the blanks.

Gingerly, Sylvie got herself out the cocoon of blankets she appeared to be wrapped in and sat up. She pressed her palm against her forehead, blindly reaching for the nearby bucket that someone had thoughtfully placed beside her bed but managed to swallow passed the bile in the back of her throat. Whoever had helped her to her quarters deserved a thank you for their thoughtfulness. Bull, maybe? Or one of the Chargers who Sylvie _thought_ had been in the tavern the night before? Probably not Dorian- if he had put her to bed then he probably would have just stayed with her for the night. Sighing, she hauled herself to her feet, the room tilting dangerously as she staggered a few steps to the side. She was never drinking again.

After a quick wash and a change of clothes, Sylvie felt like something that closely resembled a human being and made her way downstairs to the main hall. Hopefully some strong tea and a bite of food would set her to rights.

“There she is!” Bull's voice called out loudly, making Sylvie wince as she looked across the hall. He was seated at one of the long tables, Varric across from him and Dorian by his side. The latter looked up from his mug, face immediately splitting into a teasing smirk as he took in the absolute state of her. Sylvie plopped down in the chair beside Varric and dropped her head onto the table with a loud 'thunk'.

“Everything alright there, Charcoal?” Varric asked with a chuckle. Sylvie only managed a muffled grumble in response.

“That's what you get for drinking that Qunari swill last night.” Dorian pointed out needlessly. “Now sit up before you make a spectacle of yourself.” He punctuated his point by tapping the top of her head with a spoon. Sylvie's head felt too heavy for her neck as she sat up straight in her chair and glared across the table at Bull. The Qunari laughed, pointing at Sylvie with the slice of bread in his hand.

“Don't blame me for this, Boss.”

“I don't.” Sylvie replied, pouring herself some tea with slightly shaking hands. “I blame the dragon.”

“Yes it was the _dragon's_ fault that you drunk yourself into a stupor.” Dorian said, rolling his eyes. “So rude of it to die like that, leaving you _no_ choice but to celebrate until you fell over.”

“I fell over?” Sylvie asked, looking over the rim of her mug. She certainly didn't remember falling over ...not that she remembered much, however. Dorian snorted as he began putting food on Sylvie's plate.

“Not while I was there although I did leave when the singing started.”

“I was singing?” Sylvie groaned, attempting to look at the food she'd be given without vomiting all over the table.

“Something about a maiden and a bear although it sounded like a thinly veiled song about a rather vulgar sex act.” Dorian told her, popping a piece of bacon into his mouth. Sylvie knew the song he meant, Sera had taught her it one evening in Haven.

“You didn't sing for long,” Varric assured her, “you'd stopped by the time I left.”

“So you took me back to my quarters?” Sylvie asked, turning her gaze to Bull. The Qunari shook his head, his one eye glancing at Varric and Dorian who were both looking curious now.

“Nope, wasn't me, Boss ...you don't remember?” Sylvie shook her head and was about to relay what she _did_ remember when Dorian spoke.

“Ah, good morning Commander.” He said cheerfully. “Come to make sure that the Inquisition still has a leader after last night?” Sylvie tilted her head as she looked up at Cullen. There was a memory linked to him ...intangible and unreachable, lost in the alcoholic fog of the previous night. She could see the slight smile threatening on his features as he looked at her. Sylvie suddenly became painfully aware of how much of a mess she probably looked.

“I am pleased to see you survived your ...celebration, Inquisitor.” Cullen said politely with a nod of his head. He was almost _too_ polite, like there was something playing on his mind ...like she had done something utterly ridiculous that he couldn't mention in the company of others. As far as Sylvie could recall, she _hadn't_ seen Cullen at all last night ...right?

“No need to be so formal, Curly.” Varric gestured to the seat across from Sylvie. “Sit down, eat something since you probably haven't this morning.” Cullen looked like he was about to protest, make up some excuse about troops or reports, but instead he nodded and sat down, warm brown eyes flicking in Sylvie's direction every so often.

Sylvie sat down her mug and began to poke idly at the food in front of her with her fork, only half listening to the conversation around her. Bull was once again telling the tale of their fight with the dragon, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Dorian and Sylvie had both been _there._ Every time she had heard him tell it, there seemed to be more embellishments, more drama. He and Varric should really consider collaborating.

“And don't forget that delightful Qunlat phrase you insisted on shouting at the beast.” Dorian's comment drew Sylvie's attention fully to the conversation. “What was it again?”

“Taarsidath-an halsaam!” Bull replied heartily. Sylvie felt her blood run cold, aware of Cullen's eyes on her from across the table. Fuck ...shit ...fuck ...there was a flash in her memory- blankets wrapped tightly around her ...gentle lips on her forehead ... _her_ voice saying Bull's phrase.

“And for those of us not fluent in Qunlat that means...” Varric said as Sylvie clutched her fork tightly, repeating the phrase 'no no no no' over and over in her head.

“I will bring myself sexual pleasure later while thinking about this with great respect!”

Sylvie dropped her fork with a clatter, rising so quickly from her chair that it almost toppled over. She caught the sight of Cullen standing as well, his cheeks beginning to flush red as she darted passed him and retreated to the safety of her quarters. She took the steps two at a time before flinging herself face down onto her bed. Maybe if she squashed herself flat enough the mattress would actually swallow her whole.

It was only a few minutes later that she heard her door open and footsteps coming up the stairs. The edge of her mattress dipped under the weight of someone sitting down and Sylvie hesitantly peeked out from between her arms. Dorian was looking down at her, expression half-confusion and half-amusement.

“What did you do?”

“I don't know what you mean.” Sylvie smothered her face back into the pillow but Dorian whipped it out from beneath her in one smooth motion.

“Let's see,” Dorian began, lying down next to her with his head on the stolen pillow, “Bull tells everyone at the table the meaning of that pleasant phrase, you run away without so much as a word, Cullen then stammers out a reason to depart just after you fled, at which point Bull informs us that it was the lovely Commander who put you to bed last night.” Sylvie rolled onto her back, flinging her arm over her eyes but kept silent so Dorian plunged onwards. “So the three of us, being the extremely observant bunch that we are, begin to speculate that perhaps our sweet Sylvie decided to demonstrate her limited knowledge of the Qunari language to the Commander last night ...am I close?”

“Spot on...” Sylvie sighed, finally looking at Dorian. “I couldn't remember much from last night but when Bull said it...”

“You got a splendid drunken flashback, I know those rather well as it happens.” Dorian shook his head. “So your solution to having behaved somewhat inappropriately was what? To hide in your bed forever?”

“That's the current plan.” Sylvie replied, staring up at the canopy of her bed. “Just find everyone that needs killing, line them up at the door and I'll deal with them here.” Dorian chuckled, soothing fingers brushing through her hair.

“I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my dear.” He said softly. “You were planning on speaking to Cullen about ...whatever it is the two of you are up to so at least you have a starting point for the conversation now- 'Good afternoon, Commander. I am here to inform you that I would rather _you_ brought me sexual pleasure than doing it myself. Thoughts?'...” Sylvie couldn't help the laughter that burst forth, shuffling along the mattress to work her way into Dorian's embrace.

“That's certainly one way to broach the subject.” She eventually replied as Dorian wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Although there are probably feelings to be discussed before there's any ...pleasure.”

“Ah, yes- _feelings_.” Dorian said with an over-dramatic sigh. “Messy things, those ...and best avoided if you ask me.” Sylvie snorted and pulled away from him, sitting up on the bed and drawing her knees up towards her face.

“I think it's a bit late for me to avoid them...” She rested her cheek on her knees, watching as Dorian stretched and got off the bed.

“Then bloody _tell_ him!” He said impatiently, folding his arms. “Stop talking to me about it and march right over to that tower to pour your little heart out.”

Another wave of nausea worked it's way up to the back of Sylvie's throat, probably more from nervousness than her hangover. She had been thinking about it for so long that it never actually occurred to her that she would have to _do_ it. Shaking her head, Sylvie threw herself back down onto the bed.

“I ...can't.”

“Yes you can.” Dorian said forcefully. “Quite frankly, there's only so much longer I can watch the two of you dance around one another.”

“I need to think about it ...what if it's a mistake? What if he...” Sylvie trailed off, swallowing heavily.

“Says no?” Dorian continued for her and she nodded weakly. “Hah! There's as much chance of Cullen turning you down as there is Sera being named the next Divine. And since when did _you_ need to think so much about things? We both know you're not a planner- you're impulsive and rash so ...go be those things!” He turned away then, making his way to the top of the stairs before gently adding, “We're at war, Sylvie, if there's even a sliver of joy to be had ...don't regret not grabbing it with both hands.”

 

\- - -

 

With a gasping breath, Sylvie bolted upright in her bed, fingers tightly clenched in the sheets beneath her. She could still smell the smoke and burning flesh from her nightmare and her heart was beating wildly in her chest as she looked around, blinking away some of the confusion she felt. She dropped her head into her hands and rubbed furiously at her eyes. The last thing Sylvie remembered was Dorian leaving her room, after that she must have drifted back to sleep. The sky outside was banded in oranges merging upwards into dark blues indicating that she must have been left to sleep uninterrupted for almost the whole day. A portion of her exhaustion had surely been left over from her trip to Redcliffe, the rest of it caused by her excess of alcohol.

Shakily, she got off the bed and strode out onto the balcony that overlooked the mountains. The cold air was soothing on her flushed cheeks and she took a deep breath, shaking off her nightmare. As the horror of the fade drifted to the back of her mind, the memories of that morning and the night before began to creep forward. She thought about Cullen, about the memory she didn't have of him taking her back to her quarters. She thought about what Dorian had said about grasping joy wherever she could find it. Every so often in her still-tired state, Sylvie's mind would grow almost completely empty as she watched the stars begin to appear one by one in the night sky. Eventually she spotted the moon coming over the snow covered peaks and realised she must have been standing in a daze for longer than she was aware of. With a frustrated groan at having lost a full day to her hangover and slightly dazed state, Sylvie stomped back into her quarters, pulling on her boots and wrapping an oversized fur cloak around herself. Without thinking, she picked up her staff out of habit and slung it over her back before descending the stairs.

She didn't have much of a plan as to where she was going, or what she was doing but after an entire day of doing _nothing_ Sylvie felt like she simply had to move. The main hall and the courtyard were fairly empty, just the odd soldier or worker around. Sylvie pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she ascended the stairs to the battlements. She chanced a look over towards Cullen's tower but there was only darkness in the windows. It was probably just as well- she doubted that she could have controlled the urge to go inside and launch herself into his arms had she seen the flicker of even one candle. She continued in the opposite direction, through two currently disused towers until she reached the farthest away corner that she could find.

Leaning her elbows on the crenelations, Sylvie drew in a deep lungful of the crisp night air and closed her eyes. She released the exhale slowly, trying to centre herself just like Vivienne had once taught her. She opened her eyes and scowled. Just like on her balcony it was no use- her mind was still a chaotic jumble of Inquisition business interspersed with images from her earlier nightmare. With a sigh, Sylvie ran her hands through her hair and squeezed her eyes shut, letting her palms come to rest on her cheeks. How the _fuck_ had she of all people ended up in this position? Leading an army? Fighting dragons? Maybe it was her tiredness causing her doubt but Sylvie was certain she could name at least five people better suited to the position of Inquisitor. People who would know exactly what to do, what to say at any given moment ...people who also wouldn't get rip-roaringly drunk and make an absolute tit of themselves in front of their Commander ...the man that she could not deny that she was hopelessly, painfully ... _mindlessly_ falling for. If she hadn't been so exhausted by her hangover then she could have spoken to him, apologised for being an idiot and then had the stupid conversation she had been putting off for so long.

"Sylvie?"

She jumped at the sound of her name, turning quickly, hand already reaching to her back to grab her staff.

"Shit! Sorry, Cullen." She said, heart hammering in her chest from the fright. "I'm obviously more jumpy than I realised." She tried to smile but was fairly confident that it was more of a grimace. She also didn't fail to notice that Cullen's hand had instinctively gone to his sword. A wave of shame washed over her and when he saw her looking, Cullen snatched his hand away and rubbed the back of his neck.

"There is no need to apologise, I shouldn't have assumed that you heard me approach." Cullen replied before giving her a curious look. "Why are you wandering around the battlements at this time of night? No one has seen you since ...since breakfast." He asked, gaze flicking away quickly as he mentioned that morning.

"I must have been more tired than I realised- I've been asleep for most of the day. As for why I'm out here ...I had a nightmare ... _again_ ." She turned back around to look out over the valley. "The same fucking nightmare I've had every night since Haven." There was a brief moment of silence before she heard the rattling of Cullen's armour as he came to stand beside her. She jerked a little in surprise as a large hand came to rest between her shoulder blades. Quickly, she composed herself and leaned back into Cullen's touch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked softly. Sylvie shrugged as she shuffled closer to Cullen, his arm now practically wrapped around her shoulder.

"It's basically the same thing every night," she began, resting her head on Cullen's shoulder, "I'm running through Haven alone, there are fires every where but nothing else- no people, no corrupted Templars, no Archdemon. I reach the Chantry, the doors are closed and when I stop outside them they swing open by themselves ...everything inside is in flames, the heat feels so  _real_ as it washes over me, and I squint to look at the figure coming out of the fire, skin all charred and blistered, clothing dusted with embers." She swallowed heavily, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Every night it's a different person coming towards me, the first time I had the dream it was Dorian but it's been Josephine, Vivienne, Varric, Cassandra ...tonight it was your turn." She felt Cullen's hand reflexively squeeze her shoulder. Ever so lightly, he pressed a fleeting kiss against the top of her head, lingering for a moment. The gesture made her mind flashback to the previous night. “Cullen, look ...about that  _thing_ I said last night...” Cullen cleared his throat, pulling away from her slightly.

“It's ...fine. I don't ...there's no need...” He sighed in exasperation. “I don't require an explanation.” Sylvie felt she really owed him one but didn't feel up for such an uncomfortable discussion. Thankfully Cullen clearly felt the same and filled the silence that was lingering between them by quickly changing the subject. "About this nightmare ...I know it won't help to say it but it  _was_ just a dream..." He told her, voice low. "You saved us all with your actions at Haven. We're all still here ...because of you."

"For now..." Sylvie said softly as she pulled herself away from Cullen. She turned, leaning her hip against the crenelations, to see Cullen frowning at her.

"What do you mean?" He asked, tilting his head.

"One day ...one day I might fail and lose some of you ...or all of you." She said, averting her gaze.

"Sylvie..." Cullen hooked his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up so she was forced to meet his gaze. "We would not have put you in this position if we didn't think that you had the ability to succeed. You are ...you are stronger than you realise, and more powerful than you know. The influence you have over people, the way you  _make_ them believe..." He shook his head and let go of her chin. "You need to believe in  _yourself_ as much as we believe in you." Sylvie smiled before she could stop herself. As pep talks go, Cullen's was certainly very effective. She really did almost believe him.

"I will try." She eventually said and Cullen nodded.

"That is all I ask of you."

They lapsed into silence again, Sylvie turning back to look out at the mountains. Beside her, Cullen shifted and wrapped his arm hesitantly around her shoulders again. Sylvie sighed and closed her eyes.

"Cullen, I think we..." She scrunched her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. "I think we need to talk..." She felt Cullen suddenly go tense before he slowly took his arm away. Not a promising start as far as she was concerned. She opened her eyes, turning to face him. His brows were pulled together in a questioning frown, eyes catching the flickering light from the nearby torches every so often. He was ...wonderful and she was suddenly  _very_ terrified.

"What did you wish to discuss?" He asked her, using his formal Commander tone.  _Another_ thing that didn't bode well for her.

"Us." Sylvie said simply, recalling what Dorian had said about her being impulsive and rash. Cullen looked confused for a moment before what she was suggesting registered in his mind, eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Oh ...us..." He repeated, breaking eye contact. "I, um ...I won't pretend that I haven't thought about it ...about what I would say to you in this situation." Sylvie felt her stomach lurch, heart fluttering in her chest.

"So ...what's stopped you?" She asked, her voice more breathy than she intended it to be. Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"You're the Inquisitor ...we're at war and you..." He trailed off and Sylvie could feel herself beginning to scowl.

"Are a mage? The Herald of Andraste? Bad tempered? Prone to bouts of swearing?" She all but snapped, causing Cullen to look up sharply, a scowl of his own creasing his features.

"All those things, in fact, and also in the habit of interrupting people." He replied, face softening as he reached up a hand to cup her cheek. Sylvie's breath caught in the back of her throat as Cullen's thumb brushed idly back and forth over her cheekbone. "What I was going to say was that you are ...so full of life and ...fire ...kind hearted and just a little ...silly." The side of his mouth curved into a small smile. "And you are..." His voice lowered, fingers pushing the hair behind her ear, "so very beautiful..."

Sylvie had very rarely in her life been struck silent, a response to any situation always on the tip of her tongue but this time she found herself with absolutely no words. Cullen, however, wasn't quite finished yet and he seemed content to continuing filling the silence for them.

"I had  _hoped_ that, perhaps, you returned my feelings but it seemed too much to ask..."

"I had thought it was pretty obvious by now ...and since I'm still standing here..." Sylvie said softly, finally finding enough air in her lungs in order to form a reply. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, she almost took a step back just to be sure that she  _hadn't_ accidentally cast some spell. Cullen was so close, brown eyes heavy lidded as they roamed across her face.

"So you are..." Cullen said, voice barely above a whisper. "It seems to much to ask, but I want to." Sylvie watched him tilt his head and hesitate. She could feel his every exhale brushing over her face, the scent of his skin invading her senses. It felt like if he didn't close the gap between them then she would surely explode into a thousand tiny pieces on the ground. She raised her own hand to rest on his cheek, the skin surprisingly warm despite the chill of the night air and the stubble scratched just a little at her palm. Cullen drew in a shaky breath, eyes almost closing as he leaned into her touch.

"Cullen..." The low whisper of his name was the breaking point. Cullen's lips were on hers before Sylvie could even register it had happened. The kiss was firm, mouths closed as they both adjusted to the situation. Cullen's hand slipped around the back of her head, fingers winding themselves in her hair. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity down her spine and, unable to control it, Sylvie's lips parted to let out the slightest of moans against Cullen's mouth.

Cullen inhaled sharply, fingers tightening, and Sylvie felt the slow, slide of his tongue against hers as he took control of the kiss, deepening it. She wrapped both her arms around his shoulders, dragging her body flush against his. It was Cullen's turn to groan this time, wide palm splaying across the small of her back as he pulled her even tighter against him. His armour dug uncomfortably into her chest but nothing in Thedas could have made her move away. She released another soft moan when Cullen's teeth nipped at her bottom lip, tongue flicking over it languidly before he slid it passed her lips to tangle with her own again. She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the loosened curls between her fingers as he manoeuvred her around and pressed her against the crenelations. After so long of thinking and  _waiting_ for this moment, it seemed like her every nerve was aflame. Every brush of Cullen's fingers on her neck, every low groan in the back of his throat made her want more and more and she clutched tightly onto the front of his cloak because  _Maker_ nothing was ever going to be enough.

Sylvie couldn't be sure how long they stayed locked in the embrace, tongues and lips moving with increasingly frantic pace as a hunger for more grew in the pit of her stomach. More tongues ...more teeth ...more hands ...more skin ...Sylvie moaned into Cullen's mouth as his fingers gripped her hair before he tore his mouth away from hers. Breathless, he pressed his forehead against hers. She blinked dazedly a few times, finally managing to bring Cullen's face into focus. He was staring at her with heavy lidded eyes, smirk toying playfully at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly. "That was, um ...really nice."

"Nice?" Sylvie quipped, pulling her face back slightly. "That ...could be the biggest understatement I have ever had the pleasure of hearing." Cullen chuckled, the sound vibrating through Sylvie's own body. She had never understood the phrase 'bursting with happiness' until this exact moment in time, as terribly sappy as it may seem.

"It was ...perfect ...and very much worth waiting for."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well they got there eventually! Thank you for all the lovely comments/kudos and subs. This fic now actually qualifies as having romance in it! Hooray! I want to dedicate this chapter to my wonderful and extremely patient beta Gabtinha who has known this was coming for weeks and who has been so utterly integral to my creative process and keeping me going when I've felt like I'm struggling.


	23. Discussions Still To Be Had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer than normal! A huge thanks to everyone reading, leaving kudos, subbing and commenting. It genuinely makes my day a little brighter and I love you all!

Cullen had awoken just after dawn as was his usual custom. He went through his morning routine of shaking off any residual distress that was left behind by his nightmare while he washed and dressed to face another day. This particular morning, however, when his mind inevitably drifted to Sylvie there were no what ifs ...no over-analysing of their every interaction or every little look that passed between them. It felt almost strange to _not_ be wondering about what it was that was brewing between them, the previous night having made it more than clear.

Despite Sylvie declaring that they needed to talk about their ...situation, Cullen couldn't actually recall much conversation taking place at all. The only thing he seemed to properly remember was the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he heard her whisper his name ...and the feel of her lips against his. Practically speaking, the two of them _really_ should have discussed where they go from this point onwards but Cullen had found that the need to kiss her again was all too powerful. After what was quite possibly hours spent hidden in the darkened corner of the battlements they had reluctantly agreed that, given how late it had gotten, it would be wise to retire for the evening.

_That_ statement had hung heavily between them until Cullen had felt the need to inarticulately specify that he meant for them to retire _separately._ Sylvie had chuckled at that, willingly conceding that he was correct but there had been an undoubtable look of disappointment that had briefly flashed across her expression. Cullen understood the feeling ...Maker how long had it been since he had experienced such a _need_ for someone? It was one of those few occasions where had both thanked and _cursed_ his self-control and his need to be sensible.

As he sat down on his bed to lace up his boots, Cullen couldn't quite prevent his mind from wandering to the, potentially future, image of Sylvie lying there, hair tousled from sleep and cheeks flushed from ...whatever they had done that morning. Fortunately, perhaps, someone chose that moment to open the door to his office. Hopefully there was some new crisis to attend to that would keep him focussed, at least for a few hours.

“Cullen? Are you up there?” Sylvie's voice called up the ladder. He was beginning to think that she had some sixth sense that allowed her to appear whenever he was thinking about her. “And sorry if you were asleep!” Cullen could do nothing to prevent the smile that tugged at his lips as he stood up from the bed.

“I was awake.” He replied, descending the ladder to his office. He closed the door that Sylvie had left wide open before turning around to find that she'd deposited herself in the chair behind his desk. There was something in the way she smiled across the room at him that suddenly made him feel like some sort of idiot, love-struck teenager instead of the Commander of an army. _That_ was something he would need to shake off, and quickly.

“Good morning...” Sylvie said, head tilting to one side as she rather blatantly looked him up and down. Apparently kissing on the battlements had been her queue to dispense with any subtleties. “Where is your armour?” Cullen gestured to the corner of the room behind her where the armour in question was neatly placed on a dummy.

“It is easier to remove it down here than have to climb up and down the ladder with it on.” He answered, making his way across the room.

“Very practical.” Sylvie replied, chair scraping along the stone floor as she stood up. “There had actually been some speculation as to whether you ever took it off at all but now it looks like Varric owes me money.”

“You and Varric made a _bet_ as to whether I remove my armour at night or not?” Cullen's hand paused to hover over his breastplate, turning slightly towards Sylvie who was now beside him.

“Varric will bet on pretty much anything.” She said with a snort. “I wouldn't be shocked if had a bet on _us._ ” He glanced away, a small frown creasing his brow.

“He was already aware of my ...feelings towards you.” Cullen told her. She placed a hand on his arm, gently urging him to turn to face her fully.

“You told him?” She asked, frowning. “When?” Cullen sighed, rubbing at his forehead.

“After the attack on Haven. I was ...waiting, watching for any sign of you.” He felt Sylvie's hand slip down his arms, their fingers entwining. The gesture felt oddly natural, as if it were something they had always done. “It would seem that my feelings were written all over my face, at least as far as Varric was concerned.”

Sylvie leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his cheek and Cullen, without thinking, pulled her hand up to wrap around his shoulder. He turned his head slightly, capturing Sylvie's lips before she had a chance to pull away. The hum of contentment she made as Cullen's hand cupped her cheek made his stomach clench, a shiver running down his spine when her fingers began to trace idle lines up and down his neck. She pulled away first, pressing her forehead against his.

“I'll be honest...” Sylvie whispered conspiratorially, “ _that_ was sort of my main motivation for visiting this morning...” Cullen chuckled, pushing the loose strands of brown hair behind Sylvie's ear as he kissed her forehead.

“It was rather more pleasant than being greeted by a scout with another report for me.” He replied, allowing Sylvie to take a step back from his embrace.

“Oh I'm sure the reports and missives will start to flood in soon enough.” She grinned briefly before her expression turned uncharacteristically serious. “So you don't regret what happened then?”

“What? No!” Cullen said quickly, frowning at her question. “I mean ...of course I wouldn't regret it. If had thought it was a mistake then I wouldn't have allowed myself to say what I did ...or to kiss you.” Sylvie's features slumped in relief, the smile returning to her face.

“Oh good, I was thinking about things this morning and was worried that maybe ...in the light of day ...you'd think it was a mistake.” Sylvie looked away and wrapped her arms around herself. It was strange to see her seemingly suffering from self-doubt when Cullen himself now felt the _opposite_ way after the previous night.

“I had hoped that I had made my feelings ...clear enough last night.” He said, taking a step towards her. Sylvie shrugged and looked at him.

“We didn't _exactly_ do much talking about things ...or about where we go from here.” She responded and Cullen sighed, taking the final step towards her before pulling her close.

“Things are ...complicated, for both of us.” He began, resting his cheek on the top of her head when she nestled her face into his neck. “But I would very much like for us to find a way to make this work...” He could feel Sylvie smile against his neck, every blink of her eyes making her lashes flutter against his skin.

“Me too...” She whispered, bringing her head up to meet his gaze and grinning at him. “We're both smart enough, we'll figure it out.” She leaned in quickly, her lips on his as her fingers bunched in the front of his tunic. Cullen _felt_ her soft moan vibrating through his body as he slipped his tongue against hers. Much like the previous night, there was a heat in the kiss that grew rapidly as if from nowhere. He dropped his arms to wrap around Sylvie's waist, her hands sliding up his chest to clasp at the back of his neck.

It was impossible to deny just how much _more_ he wanted. A very vocal part of his mind was screaming at Cullen to run his hands down her hips, her thighs ...up her back to tangle in her hair ...he was unable to hold back a slight groan when Sylvie's teeth found purchase on his bottom lip, a fleeting nibble that held a silent promise of _so much_ more. Cullen only realised that he had been pushing her backwards when he felt the jolt of their bodies as Sylvie collided with the desk and, with much restraint, he broke the kiss. To his great surprise, Sylvie burst out laughing and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

“I'm sorry...” She eventually said, lifting her head to look at him. “It's just ...look at us! I'm the Inquisitor and _you're_ the Commander of an entire army yet here we are,” She waved a hand behind her at the desk to emphasise her point, “unable to have a simple conversation, or a slight kiss, without behaving like randy teenagers!” Cullen took a step backwards, chuckling as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Forgive me, Inquisitor.” He said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I will endeavour to show better restraint in future.” Sylvie rolled her eyes and pushed off from the desk.

“Very well, _Commander_.” She replied. Cullen noticed that she was struggling to keep a straight face as she raised an eyebrow at him. “Just so you know ...I wasn't complaining.”

“I will ...keep that in mind...” Cullen said before clearing his throat. If he didn't get her out of this office and get his mind focused on some work soon, Cullen feared he would lose his entire day just being with her.

“Well I unfortunately have some meetings to go and attend.” Sylvie declared, heading towards the door. “And I'm sure all those recruits in the yard won't shout at themselves. I was thinking I could come back later ...maybe we could have some dinner in peace?”

“I would like that.” Cullen replied. He watched as Sylvie hesitated at the door before softly whispering 'oh, for fucks sake' under her breath. He was about to ask what was wrong when, before he could so much as blink, Sylvie had turned back around and in two long strides had her arms flung around his neck. Cullen was almost too surprised to react when she kissed him, her lips soft and chastely closed. As quickly as she had kissed him, Sylvie was away and moving again, calling out a goodbye as she darted from the office.

Cullen let out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair as he walked over to close the door. He let his forehead fall against the wood and sighed, closing his eyes tightly. Once his heart rate had lowered to something more reasonable, Cullen turned back around to face his armour stand and nodded to himself.

“To work.”

 

\- - -

 

“Ah, Commander! There you are.”

Cullen looked up briefly from the sparring soldiers in front of him to see Dorian striding purposefully across the yard. The mage came to stand beside him, leaning casually on a fencepost with his arms folded across his chest.

“Good afternoon, Dorian.” Cullen said, gaze falling back to the soldiers. They were making good progress from how they performed only a few months earlier, it was a good thing to see. “I'm not sure where else you expected to find me.”

“Well, granted I didn't look exceptionally hard. You weren't in your office and this was next best guess.” Dorian's eyes fell to the sparring as well, following the movements of the soldiers as he took in a deep breath. “Such a lovely day, don't you think? The sun is shining, the birds are singing...” Cullen glanced at him out the corner of his eye. Dorian's lips were pulled into a barely concealed smirk, mischief glinting in his eyes. Sighing, Cullen shook his head, barely keeping the amusement from his face

“She told you.” He said plainly, folding his arms.

“In great detail, in fact.” Dorian replied. “It all sounded positively toe-curling ...well done for that, by the way. I was so delighted by the news that I was ready to throw a parade through the halls.”

“Please don't do that.” Cullen said with a snort. “I would rather...” He lowered his voice, casting a glance around to make sure no one was within earshot. “I would rather that mine and Sylvie's ...business stay private.”

“I'm afraid it's rather too late for that.” Dorian's tone was matter-of-fact as he stood up straight and turned to face him. Cullen raised an eyebrow and the mage rolled his eyes. “Did you truly believe that your little meeting last night on the battlements went completely unnoticed? _You_ set up the patrols, Commander, surely you must realise that there would be _someone_ around.”

Cullen could feel the flush creeping along his cheeks. Dorian was completely correct, of course, but Cullen had obviously been too consumed by Sylvie's proximity and the revelation that she felt the same as he did to consider their positioning at the time.

“Oh now this is rather sweet,” Dorian continued, “you really didn't have any idea, did you? I can practically see your mind working and I wouldn't fret over it if I were you.”

“What have people been saying?” Cullen asked, not entirely sure if he truly wanted to hear the gossip or not. Dorian sighed dramatically, waving a hand and was about to speak when they were both momentarily distracted from the conversation by the sound of a crash in the sparring ring, an overzealous recruit having knocked his partner into a stack of barrels. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cullen shook his head and, with a quick apology to Dorian, strode over to where Lieutenant Nicholas was attending to a soldiers bloody nose. Cullen took a quick look at the injury and nodded his head.

“Broken.” He said simply, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. “Go to the infirmary, someone there should be able to set the bone. And next time someone charges at you like that, remember the feeling of smashing in to barrels to help you dodge.” The soldier nodded, hand covering most of his face in an attempt to catch the drops of blood. Cullen turned to the soldier who had caused the injury. “And you- try to be more careful next time. Maker knows we have enough challenges without our soldiers taking one another out in the training yard.” The soldier nodded meekly before saluting and returning to the bulk of the group.

“Sassing the troops, Commander?” Dorian spoke up from behind him. Cullen turned around, unaware the mage had followed him over to the incident. “I _do_ rather enjoy it but perhaps we could find a spot to continue our discussion now that this little problem has been dealt with?”

“Right ...of course.” Cullen turned to Lieutenant Nicholas who seemed to be pointedly looking every where _but_ at Dorian. There was surely a story behind that, one that Cullen probably didn't want to know. “Nicholas, please continue the afternoon drills as normal.” He turned to leave but paused, adding, “And make sure none of them kill each other while I'm gone.”

Nicholas saluted, giving a hearty 'yes, Ser' before his gaze caught Dorian staring. The soldier promptly turned a rather alarming shade of scarlet as he hurried off. Cullen looked over to see Dorian smirking.

“I don't want to know, do I?” Cullen asked, sighing.

“I don't know, Commander ... _do you?_ ” He quipped back. Cullen shook his head ruefully.

“Absolutely not.” The less he had to hear about Dorian's ...exploits with one of his Lieutenants the better.

“I assumed as much.” Dorian said with a smirk. “Anyway! Where were we before that rather entertaining little display? Ah yes, I believe we were gossiping about your clandestine meeting with our Inquisitor! Most people seem to be rather thrilled with the news. Anyone with eyes could have predicted this happening ...or even with one eye in the case of The Iron Bull.” Dorian tapped his chin thoughtfully before giving Cullen a sly grin. “If anything it has been quite the moral boost. People are jealous too, of course.”

“ _Jealous?_ ” Cullen asked incredulously. He must have made the proclamation louder than he intended because several soldiers turned to look in their direction. ““Perhaps ...perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere?” He suggested, inclining his head up towards his tower. Dorian waved out his arm to indicate for Cullen to lead the way.

“Yes, jealous.” Dorian continued as they crossed the yard. “Jealous of you ...jealous of her ...jealous that in the midst of war two people have found each other. I swear if Varric doesn't turn this into a novel then he's a fool.”

“I don't know if that's better or worse than a parade through the hallways.” Cullen said with a groan.

“Having your love story immortalised in words? Surely that would be much better than a parade, much less ...fleeting.” Dorian lowered his voice, expression growing more serious. “There _was_ something that Sylvie didn't mention. Now, perhaps she simply didn't feel like she _should_ tell me but I believe I know her well enough to know that it is _extremely_ unlikely that she would be able to keep her mouth shut.”

“What are you talking about?” Cullen asked, pausing to frown at the mage.

“Lyrium.” Dorian said quietly. At just that one word, Cullen felt his stomach drop as they fell back into step and made their way up the stairs to his office. They passed several people before they made it to the door so Cullen made a point not to continue the discussion until they were safely out of earshot. Thankfully, Dorian seemed to silently follow his line of thinking and said nothing else, wandering into the office while Cullen closed the door securely behind them. He sighed, folding his arms across his chest as he watched Dorian sidle behind his desk and sit in the chair.

“What is it about my desk that makes mages automatically sit behind it?”

“It's a nice desk,” Dorian began, reclining and crossing his legs, “although it probably has something to do with the fact that this is the only chair in the room. Honestly, Cullen, what are the guests in your office to do?”

“I hadn't been planning on receiving that many visitors.” He replied with a snort. “Now that we're here ...you wanted to discuss lyrium?”

“Ah, yes ... _lyrium._ ” Dorian leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “More specifically the lack of it. You still haven't told her yet.”

There was no question in Dorian's tone, the mage having rightly assumed (as far as Cullen was concerned) that Sylvie would have mentioned it if she had been told. He had managed to keep his mind away from the blue liquid rather well that day but now the mere mention of it brought on a wave of longing, followed by brief flash of nausea at the back of his throat. Cullen ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath against the urges he could feel.

“I haven't.” He confirmed, rubbing at his forehead. “I had planned to tell her just after she was named Inquisitor but she went running off to Redcliffe. Then when she returned...”

“All you could think about was telling her how very wonderful and beautiful she is?” Dorian finished for him helpfully. Cullen sighed and let his hand fall to his side.

“I believe that sums it up...” Cullen held his hand up when Dorian looked like he was going to speak again. “Before you say anything, I am perfectly aware that she needs to know. As Inquisitor she has the right to any information that may affect our efforts against Corypheus.”

“ _That_ is not that only reason she should be told.” Dorian snapped, the impatience in his tone startling Cullen slightly. The other man was usually so very genial, and never especially serious. Cullen couldn't help but frown in response, arms crossing defensively.

“If this is you about to give me a warning about not hurting Sylvie, I can assure you that I do not require one.” He replied peevishly. He was surprised when Dorian let out a sharp bark of laughter.

“Of course you don't, Commander.” Dorian said, expression returning to it's typical smirk. “And our sweet Sylvie does not need me fussing like an overprotective sibling. _However,_ she does put a lot of stock in honesty and it certainly wouldn't end well if she were to find out such an important fact once this little romance had progressed further.”

“I will tell her tonight.” Cullen said firmly, ignoring the twist in his stomach at the thought of actually having to discuss it with her. He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. “How angry is she going to be?”

“You mean on a scale from one to setting things on fire?” Dorian tapped his chin as he uncrossed his legs and stood from the chair. “At least a six. There will be two things to remember during the conversation. Firstly, if she begins to rant- let her. You will be doing yourself no favours at all by interrupting or trying to placate her.”

“All right...” Cullen said with a nod, filing the information in the back of his mind for later. “What's the second thing?”

“Someone quitting lyrium _successfully_ ...without going mad or worse is almost completely unheard of as far as I'm aware. If and when Sylvie gets angry it's because...” Dorian paused, looking out of the window before giving his head a slight shake. “It's because she is _scared._ ”

“Why would she ...oh...” Cullen's eyebrows raised when he realised what Dorian was implying. The last thing Cullen would want was for Sylvie to be worried about him, not when there was so much resting on her shoulders already, but there _was_ something strangely comforting about the thought of having someone care enough about him to be concerned. Cullen cleared his throat as he thanked Dorian for the advice.

“No need to thank me.” The mage responded with a smile. “Sylvie can be a rather difficult whirlwind to deal with at times if you don't know what you're doing and I would rather give you the advice _now_ than have to do it after the pair of you have argued.” Dorian moved towards the door, stopping next to Cullen to clap him on the shoulder. “You'll learn these things eventually ...and if all else fails- kiss her.”

“I don't think ... _would_ that help?” Cullen asked curiously, earning him a smirk from Dorian.

“From what she told me earlier ...I believe it very much would.” With another quick pat to Cullen's shoulder, the mage left the office.

Cullen made his way behind the desk and sat down heavily in the chair, mind already working it's way through the correct way to address the topic and determining Sylvie's possible reactions. Some how, his mind kept drifting back to Dorian's last piece of advice and he found himself settling on 'kiss her' as his second, third and perhaps _fourth_ plan for the evening. Providing nothing had been set on fire first.

 


	24. Something You Should Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept my most humble apologies for the sudden disappearance of updates! I had originally hoped to have this chapter posted a while ago and then formally put the story on a brief hiatus until the new year. Unfortunately real life (mostly work life) got in the way. So thank you very much to everyone who has come back and to all of you who are as excited as I am to continue on with Sylvie's story.

 

There was a twisting in Sylvie's stomach that felt suspiciously like nerves. Not the painfully clenching 'sweet maker, that demon is huge' kind of nerves but more of a dull flutter, as if she had swallowed a bothersome bug at some point during the day. She knew she was being completely ridiculous about the whole thing- she'd eaten her fair share of meals with Cullen ...with lots of people in fact- but everything felt different now that their feelings were out in the open. Although, Sylvie supposed, having someone's tongue in your mouth also tended to change the dynamics of a relationship.

An hour or so earlier, Sylvie had gone to the kitchens to request that some food be sent to Cullen's office, specifying that she meant enough food for two people. There was nothing suspicious about it, as far as she hoped, but the soft smile and knowing nod from one of the cooks had made it abundantly clear that the secret was _already_ out. They hadn't even waited for her to leave then kitchen before the whispers and giggles had started.

Given her appointment as Inquisitor, Sylvie was neither surprised, nor bothered, by being the subject of gossip. She was fairly certain that there would be people all over Thedas discussing her. She _did_ worry how Cullen would feel about it, however. Hopefully he would deal with it the same way as he dealt with everything- assess it from a practical stand point, _maybe_ make a sardonic comment, give himself a little nod and continue about his business.

With the intention of checking how Cullen felt about the rumours over dinner, Sylvie left her quarters and made her way across the hall and through the rotunda. She paused briefly as she stepped through the door and onto the short bridge that would take her to Cullen's tower. The unpleasant flutter in her stomach intensified as she took a deep breath, mentally chiding herself for being an idiot. Striding with more purpose and confidence than she felt, Sylvie crossed the bridge to the office door and made her way inside. The smell of their meal struck her senses first as she looked across the room, the covered plates sitting neatly on a tray on the desk.

Cullen was standing behind his desk, leaning forward with his broad hands splayed on either side of a small box. He looked up, brows pulled together in a frown. Sylvie felt her own expression turn from one of nervous excitement to a scowl as she clicked the door shut behind her. She had a horrible notion that this _wasn't_ going to be the pleasant, casual dinner that she had hoped for.

“What's wrong?” Sylvie asked, making her way across the room to stand at the opposite side of the desk. She chanced a glance down at the box Cullen had been staring at- a Templar lyrium kit. She looked up to Cullen, head tilted in confusion. He sighed, standing up straight and resting his hands on the pommel of his sword.

“As leader of the Inquisition you...” Cullen looked away, sighing once again. “There's something I must tell you.”

“You're being especially serious this evening.” Sylvie replied, crossing her arms. “I'm going to hazard a guess and say that it has something to do with lyrium?” She gestured at the box on the desk.

“It does...” Cullen ran a hand through his hair, meeting Sylvie's gaze across the desk. “As you know, lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer- some go mad, others die.”

Sylvie was certain that her blood had begun to slowly turn to ice, a cold sense of dread snaking it's way through her whole body. She had a terrible feeling that she knew where this conversation was going but didn't want to jump to any unnecessary conclusions.

“But we _have_ lyrium for the Inquisition's Templars now, don't we?” She asked quietly.

“We have secured a reliable source of lyrium, yes...” Cullen replied with a nod before averting his gaze. “But I ...no longer take it.”

Sylvie blinked slowly as Cullen's declaration registered in her mind. She surely must have misheard ...misunderstood? The risks involved in ceasing lyrium were well known and she couldn't quite believe that Cullen would be so reckless given the circumstances that they were all facing.

“You stopped?” Sylvie eventually managed to say in response. She could feel her mind working through everything and anything that she knew about lyrium withdrawal- the pain, the memory loss, nightmares ...madness. Breathing became harder as visions of Cullen in such a state forced their way into her head.

“When I joined the Inquisition ...it's been months now.” Cullen said softly, leaning back over the desk.

“Months!” Sylvie half-shouted. If it had already been that long then he could already well be on his way to ...Sylvie clenched her fists at her side, nails digging into her palms in an attempt to focus. “Why didn't I know sooner?”

“Only Cassandra knew.” Cullen replied, his voice even and calm in stark contrast to Sylvie's own. “You were ...the Herald- a figurehead- there was no reason to share the information with you but now that you are Inquisitor...”

“Now I'm _Inquisitor_?” Sylvie hissed, eyes narrowing as she took a step towards him. “You didn't think you should mention it before we …got involved?” She saw Cullen's jaw clench at her comment, the only outward sign he gave of rising to her anger.

“I should have.” He agreed with a nod. “I had planned to tell you just after you were named Inquisitor but you left for Redcliffe before I had an opportunity.”

“So it's my fault?” Sylvie snapped, anger flushing her cheeks.

“That's not...” Cullen sighed, hanging his head. “That was not what I meant. There have been many ...distractions that have prevented me from telling you but given what happened last night I felt it best to tell you sooner rather than later.”

Sylvie tried to push down the anger that was bubbling in her chest at having been lied to. Well ...maybe calling it a lie was unfair. It's not as if she had ever had any reason to question whether Cullen was taking lyrium- she had simply assumed that he was but now ...now she knew that he wasn't and she _knew_ exactly what could happen to him. They had finally taken the first tentative steps towards being together and now, as well as fighting a fucking war, she may have to slowly watch Cullen spiral into the depths of madness?

“Cullen, if this could kill you...” She began, but Cullen interrupted.

“It hasn't yet.”

The comment, so flippantly delivered, was enough to almost push Sylvie over the edge, a flash of heat coursing across her skin as her temper flared. She began to pace back and forth around the office, fists still clenched at her sides as she felt the familiar prickle of her mana surging towards her fingertips.

“Is that supposed to be fucking comforting?” She near growled, not looking at Cullen and keeping her gaze firmly focussed on the floor. “Your exact words were 'some go mad, others die' and yet you think it's _fine_ since you're not dead yet?” Sylvie dug her nails into her palms again, forcing back the flames that she could _feel_ trying to escape. “Why now, of all times, would you decide to stop taking it?”

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't...” Cullen began, stepping around the desk. Sylvie saw the movement out the corner of her eye and redirected her pacing to the opposite direction. She heard Cullen sigh as he continued speaking. “I will not be bound to the order- or that life- any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.”

“And if the Inquisition's Commander loses his mind in the middle of a war?” Sylvie retorted, looking up from the floor to see a look of grim determination on Cullen's face.

“I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to ...watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.” Cullen replied. Sylvie couldn't quite believe what she was hearing- the way he said everything so _easily_ , like it was of no consequence whether he lived or died.

“Oh well that's perfectly fine then,” Sylvie snorted, “So I can assume she knows what to do with you if you go mad from lyrium withdrawal?” Cullen furrowed his brow in question and Sylvie stopped pacing, pointedly raising an eyebrow at him. “Well? Does Cassandra have a plan of where to put you? How to care for you? What we tell the troops? 'Sorry, soldiers, the Commander has lost his fucking mind and we've locked him in a tower for everyone's safety'?”

Even to Sylvie's own ears her voice was beginning to border on shrill and she knew she wasn't explaining herself as well as she could. However, Cullen still didn't seem to react, his demeanour as calm as it had ever been which was infuriating Sylvie even more. Couldn't he see the risks? Or how badly this could end for him ...for them?

“If that is the consequence of this ...then yes.” Cullen replied, folding his arms. “There are others here who are perfectly capable of organising the Inquisition's troops were I to be ...indisposed.”

“Indisposed!” Sylvie shouted, stopping pacing and closing the distance between them. “Is that what we'll fucking call it if anyone asks?” She searched his face for some kind of reaction to the situation but he kept his expression neutral. Throwing her hands up with a disgruntled snort, Sylvie took another step forwards. “This isn't just about you being the Commander, or about who else can run our army. You say you're willing to accept the suffering but by kissing me last night you're also saying that you're willing to let me watch you die!”

_That_ finally got a reaction from him, brown eyes narrowing as he took a step away from her. Sylvie wasn't sure how strong Cullen's Templar abilities still were without lyrium or if he could feel how close to losing control she was but she couldn't help notice that one hand dropped to the pommel of his sword. Whether it was instinct in the face of a threat or just a coincidence Sylvie didn't want to know.

Cullen opened his mouth to speak but Sylvie felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to get out of that room before she burned the whole tower to the ground. She spun on her heel and stormed across the room but a thought struck her as she made for the door.

“No one else knows?” She asked, her voice low as she glanced over her shoulder. Cullen didn't need to say a word- the way his eyes darted to the floor answered the question for him. “I _knew_ the two of you were making excuses to get me out of here that day ...well I suppose there was a half truth somewhere in Dorian's bullshit since the conversation was about lyrium after all.”

“Sylvie...” Cullen started but she raised a clenched fist, the other reaching for the door handle.

“Don't!” Every candle in the room flared, flames jumping upwards and a blast of heat filling the room. Sylvie saw Cullen tense at the display and the gesture only made her angrier. He saw her as a _danger_ now? She took a deep breath and turned towards the door, eyes clenched tightly shut. She pulled the door open but before it had moved even an inch it was slammed shut again. It was then than Sylvie realised that Cullen had come across the room and was right behind her, one hand splayed across the wood of the door.

“Let me out.” She hissed, resting her forehead against the door. “Unless you want your office set on fire.”

“You're not going to set anything on fire.” Cullen replied softly. She spun around to face him, eyes narrowed.

“Why reach for your sword if you didn't think I was a threat?” Sylvie asked, watching as Cullen's brows drew together in confusion. “See! You didn't even know you did it. Old Templar habits die hard, I guess.”

Sylvie realised she had gone too far the instant the words left her mouth, her temper getting the best of her like it so often did. Cullen turned away, running a hand through his hair as he headed back towards his desk. She wanted to take it back ...to properly explain that her anger was born from a place of fear but a second flaring of the candles had her wrenching the door open and hurrying across the bridge instead.

Pausing in the rotunda, Sylvie tried to catch her breath and began counting backwards from one hundred in an attempt to bring her rage back under control. She had only got to eighty when she heard Dorian's voice drifting down from the library and her temper sparked again. Somewhere in the chaos of her mind, a voice was assuring her that Cullen had good reasons for not telling her sooner ...that his reasons for quitting lyrium made perfect sense given what he'd seen in Kirkwall but for _Dorian_ of all people to have kept it from her...

Before Sylvie even realised it, she was storming up the stairs and into Dorian's preferred alcove. He looked briefly pleased to see her until Sylvie's expression properly registered with him. The mage he had been speaking to fled quickly after a brief nod from Dorian.

“He told you then.” He said flatly, standing up from his chair. Sylvie stepped into the alcove, absently noticing that Dorian took a step back from her.

“Yes he fucking told me,” Sylvie hissed, “what I'd like to know is why _you_ kept it from me? How long have you known?”

“I had suspicions after a conversation Cullen and I had during our delightful climb up the mountain. I only found out that I was, unsurprisingly, correct after the supply of lyrium was brought to Skyhold.” Dorian folded his arms defensively across his chest. “As to why _I_ didn't tell you ...well I would have thought that was obvious.”

“It's not obvious to me!” Sylvie half-shouted, causing more than one person to look in their direction.

“Kaffas, woman, keep your voice down. Unless you _want_ everyone in Skyhold to know about the Commander's situation then by all means shout away.” Dorian's eyes narrowed slightly, arms dropping back to his sides. “Perhaps if you took a moment to calm down then you would realise that something of that ...magnitude was not for me to tell you. Given this ...whatever this is between yourself and Cullen ...he and I agreed that it was best if you heard it from him.”

“You _don't_ get to decide what's best for me.” Sylvie spat, clenching her fists. “Or did you both simply think that your _silly_ Sylvie couldn't handle difficult information?”

“That's not what we thought at all.” Dorian snorted and rolled his eyes before continuing. “Although judging by your ridiculously angry state there might be some truth in that after all. Can you even hear the nonsense coming out of your mouth?”

“Excuse me?” Sylvie hissed through clenched teeth.

“Why not take a tiny step back from this whole debacle and just _think_ about how you have reacted? There's not a sensible voice any where in that pretty head of yours that's telling you that you are being a complete...”

“Complete what?” Sylvie interrupted, eyes narrowed.

“Idiot.” Dorian answered plainly.

In that moment, Sylvie wanted to hurl a fireball directly at Dorian's smug, moustached face. She had been lied to by her best friend and ...whatever Cullen was because _they_ thought they knew what was best for her. No one could make that sort of decision for her ...no one _should_ be making that decision for her. There was no voice in her head telling her that she was an idiot, just a voice telling her that she was _right_ to be so angry...

“Maybe you would like to take a moment to think about just how much _rage_ you seem to be feeling? And how that could be an absolutely terrible emotion to let yourself get all caught up in?” Dorian said softly as he moved towards her. His emphasis on the word rage triggered something in Sylvie's mind and it suddenly felt very much like she had been flipped upside down. She _was_ being a fucking idiot ...a raging, firey idiot...

“Dorian...” She began but no more words would come out, her voice catching in her throat.

“Ah! There we go.” Dorian said as he put a hand on her shoulder. “Stopped yourself falling off a cliff into a raging abyss then?”

Sylvie nodded and let Dorian pull her in, resting her head on his shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing past a lump in her throat.

“Where were you when I was shouting at Cullen?” She mumbled, feeling more and more deflated with every passing second.

“I foolishly assumed that the two of you could work through _your_ explosive temper without supervision.” Dorian snorted as he pulled away. “Clearly I was wrong ...an unpleasant sensation that I'm not at all used to. Can I assume that you simply shouted a whole heap of things at him without actually telling him how you feel about the whole thing?”

“That ..pretty much sums up my evening, yes.” Sylvie replied. She dropped into one of the chairs and, resting her elbows on her knees, let her face fall into her hands. “I should know better than to lose control to that extent...”

“As long as there's now no immediate risk of you burning down Skyhold then I think our little crisis may be over.” Dorian said, sitting down in the chair opposite her. “Or any danger of you becoming an abomination of molten proportions.” He added matter of factly. Sylvie glared half-heartedly through her fingers at him.

“What if you hadn't been here?” She asked, sitting up and leaning back. “Cullen obviously didn't know the right approach to calm me down and no one else in Skyhold knows...” Sylvie drifted off, hands clenching on her lap.

“About the kind of demon you most fear letting in?” He finished helpfully. “Maybe you should hand out copies of the story of your Harrowing then ...for the next time you lash out like a furious dragon.” Sylvie scowled at him and opened her mouth to reply but Dorian waved a hand dismissively. “Oh don't look at me like that, I'm sure you'd have figured out that you were being an idiot eventually.” He said flippantly.

“Before or after I burned Skyhold to the ground?” She asked with a frown. Dorian rolled his eyes and reached for a nearby glass of wine.

“You're a decent enough mage, my dear, but I have a feeling that this fortress of ours has withstood much worse than your temper.” He took a long mouthful of wine before speaking again. “Now that you're behaving like a reasonable human being again, lets discuss how you _actually_ feel about the news that our handsome Commander is no longer taking lyrium.”

“I feel...” Sylvie hesitated, bringing a hand up to fidget with her hair. “I'm scared, Dorian.” She admitted quietly.

“I thought as much, which is why I took the liberty of warning Cullen earlier that instead of telling him how you actually felt, you would mostly likely fly into a rage instead.” Dorian said causing Sylvie to look at him, brows drawn together in a frown.

“Why?” She asked and Dorian shrugged.

“It seemed only fair.” He began, looking out the window towards Cullen's office. “The poor man is crazy about you and it seemed only right that he knew beforehand that your anger wasn't _really_ directed at him. I _did_ give him a few pointers on how to deal with your temper but apparently I should have written him a book instead.”

“I should go back and apologise.” Sylvie declared, standing up from the chair. “Before I left his office I said ...some things I shouldn't have.”

“Shocking.” Dorian deadpanned, sitting down his glass. “Something referencing his being a Templar, no doubt.”

“You know me too well...” Pausing, Sylvie looked out the window. There was still light coming from Cullen's office and a wave of shame washed over her as she remembered the flare of the candles caused by her lack of control. “He went for his sword, Dorian.”

“He was going to draw his sword or he put his hand on it?” Dorian asked, frowning.

“Is there difference?” Sylvie snapped. She took a deep breath and folded her arms, refusing to allow her temper to resurface now Dorian had helped get it back in check.

“Of course there's a difference!” Dorian replied, waving his hands in exasperation. “Cullen rests his hands on his sword all the time, it doesn't mean he's about to wave it around.”

“What if I scared him?” Sylvie asked quietly. “He has a lot of ...history with mages from what I've heard ...what if seeing me like _that_ has made him think twice about me?” With a sigh, Dorian got up from his chair and stood in front of Sylvie, taking both her hands in his.

“Would you like the honest answer? Or a comforting lie? I will gladly provide either.” He asked her, expression uncharacteristically serious. Sylvie shrugged, eyes downcast. She wanted the comfort, the assurance that everything was fine but that would be of little use when she spoke to Cullen and her fears were confirmed.

“Tell me the truth.” She eventually said and Dorian gave her hands a squeeze.

“The Commander is not a fool. He has known that you were a mage from the moment that the Inquisition dragged you to Haven. He has also heard about your foul temper and now he has seen it for himself...” Dorian sighed, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Sylvie's ear. “It is entirely possible that your little …display _did_ scare him, or at least a part of him. Whether that will make him question the sanity of being with you or not ...I can't say.”

“What should I do?” Sylvie asked, her stomach having dropped at Dorian's words.

“About Cullen? My impeccable wisdom and insight can only go so far, my dear. However, my suggestion for tonight would be do nothing- your emotions have been up and down this evening more times than a whores knickers ...and I would imagine that Cullen's mind is not at it's best either given what has happened.”

“So I should do what? Just go to bed and hope everything looks better in the morning?” Sylvie let go of Dorian's hands, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked back out the window.

“Oh my sweet Sylvie, things _always_ look better in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further thanks go to my wonderful beta Gabtinha who 'emerged from her coffin' to continue to help me not suck. I have also posted a second companion piece to this fic. [The Harrowing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5806414) is, unsurprisingly, about Sylvie's Harrowing and it's something that I felt tied in nicely with this chapter.


	25. Care For A Game?

As was part of his usual morning routine, Cullen knelt before the statue of Andraste in Skyhold's Chantry. There were beads of sweat still drying on his forehead from his earlier exercises and the muscles in his arms and shoulders ached slightly. He had already finished reciting his prayers but found himself still on one knee, gaze focussed on the flames of the candles in front of him. He had, unsurprisingly, found sleep difficult the previous night, his argument with Sylvie playing over and over in his mind. Dorian may have warned him that she would take the news of his quitting lyrium poorly but ...he hadn't quite been expecting the almost explosive reaction that she had had.

Cullen had been ...somewhat disturbed by her anger and how it had manifested- the flare of the candles in his office, the barely contained surge of her magic just beneath her skin. While it had been months since he had last taken lyrium, there was still enough lingering in Cullen's system from his years in the Templar order to be able to sense Sylvie's powers just waiting to burst forth. He would _never_ consider her to be a danger but something in his posture had made her think otherwise. If only he could have made her stay in his office just a little longer perhaps he could have calmed her down ...Cullen sighed, forcing himself to his feet and heading back out into the gardens. There was little point on dwelling what he should or _could_ have done, all that mattered now was what last night had meant for them, and for the Inquisition.

“Ah, Commander! I'd hoped to find you here.”

Cullen looked round to see Dorian snapping shut the book in his hands and standing up from a nearby bench. Cullen inclined his head, folding his arms across his chest.

“It's rather early to see you up and about, Dorian.” Cullen replied.

“I have found that being in the midst of a war is not exactly conducive to a long rest in the mornings.” Dorian gesticulated with his book, giving Cullen a small smile. “Something about being awoken in a tent by a bossy Seeker has turned me into much more of a morning person than I ever could have imagined.”

“Did you need me for something?” Cullen asked and Dorian chuckled.

“Can't a man linger outside of a Chantry at sunrise without having an ulterior motive?” He replied. Cullen tilted his head and raised an eyebrow causing Dorian to sigh. “Very well, you figured me out. Since you're being extremely intuitive this morning you can probably guess what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Sylvie.” Cullen said plainly, rubbing at his forehead. “You've spoken to her?”

“Not this morning.” Dorian began, gesturing to Cullen to walk across the gardens. “Last night, however, after she had finished shouting at you, Sylvie then stormed up to the library to have a nice little rant at me.” They fell into step, side-by-side as they moved away from the Chantry door.

“What did she say?” Cullen asked.

“Oh a great many things- that you told her about the lyrium, that she should have been told sooner, that we thought she couldn't handle the information...” Dorian stopped at the crossroads of the garden path, turning to face Cullen and folded his arms. “Once she calmed down she then admitted to being scared of what could happen to you and expressed her concern that _you_ may now be scared of _her_ ...especially since she thinks that you went for your sword.”

“Yes, she ...asked why I went for my sword ...if I thought she was a threat.” Cullen said, sighing. He could remember all too clearly the way her green eyes had narrowed in accusation at a gesture he had no recollection of making.

“Well ... _did_ you?” Dorian asked, his head tilted curiously.

“What? I ...of course I didn't...” Cullen rubbed at the tightness in the back of his neck. “I may have rested my hands on the pommel of my sword and given the ...heated discussion that we were having...”

“And the flaring of her magic.” Dorian added pointedly.

“Yes and that.” Cullen agreed. “In that moment all Sylvie saw me as was a Templar facing down a very ...distressed mage.”

“You truly believe that?” Dorian was frowning at him as he waited for a response.

Cullen _had_ believed it for a time after Sylvie had left his office. Over the course of his sleepless night Cullen had wavered in his opinion, managing to convince himself that Sylvie didn't see him as simply a Templar. It always came back around to the same thing, however- her words of “old Templar habits die hard” echoing around his mind. Cullen relayed his thoughts to Dorian and the other man sighed, ascending the few steps up into the gazebo. He sat down heavily in one of the chairs at the chess set, crossing his legs and turning slightly to face where Cullen was still standing.

“It seems like the two of you should have perhaps addressed the whole mage and Templar situation before having a clandestine meeting on the battlements.” Dorian said, drumming his fingers on the chess board beside him. Cullen felt himself scowling and folded his arms.

“I am no longer a Templar, something that Sylvie already knows.” He snapped despite his better judgement, his sleepless night fraying at his nerves. “She is the Inquisitor, the _leader_ of our organisation and cannot afford to lose control like she did last night any time she receives information that she does not like.” Dorian raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“Information that she does not like?” He repeated, giving a sharp burst of mirthless laughter. “You inform the woman who is falling for you that you are following a course of action that could _kill_ you and you want to accuse her of an over reaction? She wasn't reacting as the Inquisitor and you _know_ it, Commander.”

Cullen let his arms fall to his side, shoulders slumping slightly as he ran a hand through his hair. He stared for a moment at the chess board, the pieces clearly returned to their original positions by the last people to use them, before looking up to meet Dorian's gaze.

“Sylvie said she is falling for me?” He asked quietly and Dorian rolled his eyes.

“ _That_ was not the key point of my statement, Commander.” He replied, leaning back in his chair. “But you would have to be a fool not to see that.” Dorian tapped his chin thoughtfully before sweeping his hand across the already-prepared chess board. “Care for a game?”

“ _Now_?” Cullen asked with a frown. “It hardly seems like the time to...”

“We can continue our discussion if you like,” Dorian interrupted, holding up a hand to stop Cullen mid-sentence, “but I've often found that the focus needed for a good game of chess is helpful in clearing out a very tangled up mind.”

Cullen had to concede his point. There was something about focussing on a different kind of problem that occasionally helped settle down his mind when his thoughts were in a jumble. He inclined his head and sat down across from the mage and then, with a small pause for thought, made his first move, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Let me ask you something, Commander.” Dorian said as he made his own move, grey eyes roaming over the board. Cullen could see from the small frown between his brows that he was already beginning to plan several turns ahead. “Do you believe that last night was the coffin nail in your budding romance with Sylvie?”

“I ...hope not.” Cullen replied. He sighed, frowning as his considered his next words. “There was a time when ...I would never have entertained the idea of being with ...someone like Sylvie and even if I _did_ , last nights outburst would have been enough to change my mind.”

“Well it was never going to be simple- on the face of things the two of you couldn't be more different ...never mind the fact that we happen to find ourselves at the centre of a _war_.” Dorian commented and they lapsed into a thoughtful silence. A few moves of their game passed before Cullen spoke again.

“Can I ask _you_ something, Dorian?”

“Ask away, Commander.” The mage looked up and gave Cullen a slight smirk. “I do so enjoy enriching my friends with my enlightened opinions.” Cullen snorted, returning the smirk across the chess board.

“You seem extremely ...invested in what happens between myself and Sylvie.” Cullen commented, pausing to calculate his next move.

“That wasn't exactly a question. I'm assuming you want to know why?” Dorian replied, his eyes meeting Cullen's across the board.

“I would, yes ...I guessed there was more of a reason than simply being ...a gossip.” Cullen smirked causing Dorian to chuckle.

“The Commander of the Inquisition shows a cheeky streak, what _would_ the troops think.” He remarked with a smile before his expression turned thoughtful. “As you are well aware, I care a great deal for Sylvie and because of that I very much would like to see her find even a modicum of happiness in this Maker damned mess we've found ourselves.”

“Sylvie is a grown woman.” Cullen countered, fingers hovering over a chess piece before changing his mind and making a different move. “Surely you must think her capable of dealing with things by herself?” Leaning forward, Dorian rested his elbows on the edge of the board.

“I have found Sylvie to be the kind of person who needs a certain amount of ...guidance when it comes to working through a problem or her feelings. You and I are very alike, Commander- we deal with things alone, taking an internal and practical view to our problems.” He said, cupping his chin in one hand as he met Cullen's eyes across the board. “Whereas Sylvie needs to talk and rant ...pace back and forth a few times before she can sort through whatever chaos is in that pretty head of hers.”

“And so you help.” Cullen remarked and Dorian nodded.

“The Circles here in the South didn't prepare her to be thrust into the middle of a war but she has yourself, our Spymaster and Ambassador to assist her with that.” Dorian frowned, considering the move that Cullen had just made before carefully making one of his own. “Another thing the Circles certainly don't prepare mages for is the intricacies and subtleties of romance...” He leaned back and smiled, “and so I offer my services freely.”

“A topic I'm sure you are well versed in.” Cullen said with a snort. Dorian chuckled and waved a dismissive hand.

“There weren't exactly a huge amount of opportunities for true romance in Tevinter for someone like me but _that,_ my dear Commander, is a whole other story. I just happen to be extraordinarily insightful and a wonderful judge of character.”

“And most humble about it, I see.” Cullen remarked, quirking his eyebrow. Dorian laughed heartily in response.

“Even the best of us have our downfalls.” He said with a dramatic sigh.

They drifted into a comfortable silence, the impending climax of their chess game consuming all their focus. Cullen wasn't surprised to find that Dorian was a more than worthy adversary. The mage made every move with thought and care, his expression as he regarded the board making it clear that he was always planning a few moves ahead. It was the exact same tactic that Cullen himself employed and every time he set his pieces up for victory, Dorian spotted it and countered it effectively. Eventually, however, Cullen managed to manoeuvrer his pieces into a winning format that Dorian didn't appear to spot, the mage becoming too focussed on what he saw as his own winning play.

“Time looks to be running out for you, I'm afraid.” Dorian eventually said and Cullen gave a soft snort.

“Gloat all you like. I have this one.” Cullen replied, steepling his fingers as he looked across the board. Dorian raised an eyebrow at him.

“Earlier you made cheeky comments about my being a gossip and now you're _sassing_ me, Commander?” Dorian said with a smirk. “Perhaps we have been spending far too much time together.”

Cullen was about to respond when he noted a figure coming towards them out the corner of his eye. He turned, assuming it was the first of the days many inevitable reports, only to find Sylvie standing by the edge of the gazebo. Her hair was down, long, brown strands fluttering around her face as they got caught in the morning breeze. She was draped in a heavy, green cloak so long that even her feet were hidden and as Cullen looked at her she wrapped her arms around herself almost defensively.

“Inquisitor...” Cullen began, making to stand up from his chair. He didn't fail to notice the slight narrowing of her eyes when he didn't use her name.

“Leaving, are you?” Dorian chimed in from across the table, the casual teasing in his tone giving no indication that he sensed the sudden tension that Cullen felt had descended upon them. “Does this mean I win?” On instinct, Cullen sat back down in his chair.

“Are you two playing nice?” Sylvie asked as she looked at Dorian, her voice sounding a little hoarse. If Cullen had to guess, he would say that she had come to the gardens immediately after waking. Although, if her somewhat bloodshot eyes and the dark circles beneath them were any indication, it would seem that Sylvie had also suffered from a sleepless night.

“I'm _always_ nice.” Dorian replied to her, turning his attention back to Cullen. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You'll feel much better.” He made his move, leaning forward in his seat. Despite the awkward air lingering around the three of them, Cullen couldn't help but smile as he made a move of his own.

“Really? Because I just won, and I feel fine.” He reclined back in his chair, stretching out his arms and giving a slight chuckle. Dorian frowned down at the board before throwing up his hands in defeat.

“Don't get smug. There will be no living with you.” He remarked as he got up from his seat. Dorian stopped next to Sylvie, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. Cullen tried to be surreptitious as he watched Dorian lean in and say something quietly to her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Sylvie had been staring, rather pointedly, at the ground but she looked up to meet Dorian's eyes and gave the other mage a nod. Whatever Dorian had said to Sylvie, her nod seemed to be the response he was looking for and he walked away, leaving the two of them alone. The silence between them felt like it dragged on for countless minutes, Sylvie looking any where _but_ at him, before Cullen cleared his throat.

“I should return to my duties...” He hesitated when Sylvie finally looked at him. She looked unusually vulnerable wrapped up in her oversized cloak, the exhaustion and sadness in her eyes completely unguarded. Cullen cleared his throat again, glancing away from her. “Unless you would care for a game?”

He watched as Sylvie took a step towards him but she stopped herself, biting at the inside of her cheek in thought. The wind blew more hair across her face and she scowled, pushing it back behind her ears. Cullen sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“Forgive me, I'm sure you have a great deal of things to attend to this morning.” He made to stand up from his seat when Sylvie finally spoke.

“Prepare the board, Commander.” She said quietly, sitting down across from him.

Cullen found her silence rather ...unnerving as he moved the pieces back into their starting positions. He had become so used to Sylvie's constant chatter and laughter that it felt, quite simply, unpleasant to have her sitting so stoically across from him. Despite everything that lingered between them, all Cullen could seem to think about in those tense moments was finding a way to make her laugh. When the pieces were set Cullen made the first move. Sylvie kept her eyes downcast as she made her first play. There was no hint on her expression that she was beginning to strategise or plan ahead- a fact that didn't surprise Cullen at all but he refrained from passing comment.

As they began the game in earnest, Cullen noticed that every time he looked up from the board, Sylvie would seem to be on the verge of saying something but would quickly glance away. Her posture was more tense than it usually was, her back straight and shoulders stiff. Cullen also found himself close to speaking on more than one occasion but always stopped himself- the uncertainty of how things stood between them making it difficult to gauge what comments he should or should not say. After a fairly minimal amount of moves, Sylvie had already lost five of her pieces and had begun scowling down at the board.

“I'm not very good.” She remarked plainly, glaring at another of her pieces when Cullen removed it- as if it were the pawns own fault that it had been lost.

“Have you not played often?” Cullen asked gently, making a careful attempt not to offend her now that she was finally talking.

“My father had begun to teach me and my brothers before I went to the Circle and, of course, people played it a lot in there to pass the time but I...” She looked up from the board, a tiny glint of amusement returning to her eyes. “I never really had the patience for it.”

“I ...can believe that.” Cullen replied with a small smile which Sylvie returned. Heartened by her reaction, he decided to continue the conversation now they were speaking again. “As as child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won- which was _all_ the time.”

“You mean like the grin you gave Dorian when you beat him?” Sylvie asked, settling back into a more comfortable position in her chair. Cullen laughed softly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I suppose you're right.” He made his next move, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “My brother and I practised together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won ...between serving with the Templars and now with the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays...” Cullen drifted off, staring out into the gardens before his eyes made their way back to Sylvie. She was frowning down at her knees, chewing at the inside of her lip.

“At least you always had the possibility of seeing _your_ siblings.” Sylvie eventually said, her tone somewhat sharp.

“Forgive me...” Cullen replied quickly, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Sylvie sighed and shook her head.

“Don't apologise.” She said, moving one of her chess pieces with more force than necessary. “I ...shouldn't have said it like that I'm just ...tired.”

“I had thought as much. You ...look like you didn't get much sleep.” Cullen said, causing Sylvie eyes to angrily snap up from the board. He swiftly realised what he may have implied and inwardly cursed. “I didn't mean ...not that you look _bad_ , you simply ...oh Maker's breath.” He ran his hand across his face, trying to find an appropriate response when he was startled by the sound of Sylvie laughing. Cullen couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips when he realised that she had been ready to tease him with fake annoyance. “You weren't offended _at_ _all_ , were you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Sylvie said, shaking her head. “There _is_ a mirror in my quarters, Cullen- I am _well_ aware of how I look this morning.”

“I think you look ...lovely...” He quickly glanced away, but not before she saw the soft smile pass across her features.

“Lovely but tired...” She replied before chuckling lightly. “I'll take that compliment.” Cullen felt the awkward tension between them dissipate and it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Anyway ...I didn't know that you had siblings.”

They lapsed into a casual conversation after that, Cullen telling Sylvie about his sisters and brother while she told him about her two brothers in return. The questions continued onto more mundane things- stories from their extremely different childhoods, favourite foods, Sylvie's love of books- until their game reached it's final stages. As games of chess went, the one between them had been swift with Sylvie truly being quite as bad as she thought she was.

“I believe this may have been the longest we have ever gone without discussing the Inquisition or ...related matters.” Cullen commented. He looked up from making what would be one of his final moves to find Sylvie frowning. Taking a deep breath, she broke his gaze and replied, words tumbling out of her in a torrent.

“Cullen I should apologise for my reaction last night, I reacted extremely badly and I said somethings I shouldn't have and ...I'm sorry.” She was fidgeting with the sleeve of her cloak, her expression tight as she waited for a response. Cullen glanced around the garden which was now much more occupied than it had been earlier- it wasn't exactly an ideal location for the conversation that they needed to have.

“Let's ...finish our game.” He replied. Sylvie looked up at him, brows drawn together in question. “Then we can find somewhere more ...private to have this discussion.” Sylvie nodded and looked down at the chess board before laughing.

“I don't _really_ think we need to finish this- I'm not going to wage an outstanding comeback.” She said with a smile. Cullen smirked across the board at her, reaching down to move his piece into it's winning position.

“There,” Cullen said and leant back, “the game is finished.”

“You should remember Dorian's advice,” Sylvie began as she got up from her chair, “don't get smug ...and yes you _do_ get a stuck-up grin like your sister.”

Cullen chuckled and stood up from the board, resting a hand gently, subtly, on the small of Sylvie's back as he lead her away from the table. The Chantry was the closest location with any privacy so Cullen lead Sylvie inside and closed the door behind them. The familiar smell of the incense brought a sense of calm and comfort over Cullen but Sylvie, on the other hand, looked a little uncomfortable as she stared up at the statue of Andraste. He had forgotten, it seemed, that Sylvie did not regard herself as Andrastian and did not believe in the Maker. Cullen was so used to being surrounded by people of varying levels of devoutness that it still seemed odd to him that someone, especially from a famously religious family like Sylvie's, was _not_ a believer. Sylvie sighed and turned away from the statue, folding her arms across her chest.

“So ...last night...” She trailed off, gaze dropping to the floor.

The awkward tension from earlier settled back over them and Cullen, in what may have been an overly bold move, closed the distance between the two of them and wrapped his arms loosely around Sylvie's waist. Her arms were draped over his shoulders in an instant and she pulled herself tightly against him, burying her face in his neck. Cullen tightened his grip on her, cheek resting on the top of her head.

“You should know that I _never_ considered you a danger.” Cullen said softly and he felt Sylvie tense a little in his arms before she drew back slightly to look up at him.

“But I could have been.” She replied, frowning. “I know full well how ...quick my temper is and that it manifests in my magic.” Sylvie sighed and reached up to cup her hand around Cullen's cheek. “I don't know details but I get the feeling from things that I have heard that you have seen the very _worst_ that mages can do so I would ...understand if last night would make you think twice about me ...about us.”

Leaning in, Cullen brushed his lips against Sylvie's, fingers tracing a pattern back and forth along the base of her spine. Her hand slid from his cheek and into his hair, stopping to curve around the back of his head as she pressed deeper into the kiss. Cullen felt a spark of heat pool in his stomach when Sylvie's lips parted, her tongue sliding easily against his own. Sylvie broke the kiss first, leaning her forehead lightly against his chin.

“Was that my goodbye kiss?” She asked before looking at it him. Cullen sighed, bringing up his hand to brush her hair behind her ear.

“Both of our pasts make _this_ ...quite complicated.” He replied quietly, continuing to run his fingers through Sylvie's hair. “However I am not willing to give up quite so easily ...if you're not.” Cullen smiled softly, an expression that Sylvie returned with a nod. Her smile dropped from her face quickly.

“The lyrium thing ...it is dangerous, Cullen. You could...” She trailed off, taking a deep breath and biting the inside of her cheek. “You're _sure_ about it?” Cullen nodded, hand coming to rest on the nape of Sylvie's neck.

“I will not be bound to that life any longer. It will be ...a difficult path to walk and I have accepted that.” He said, his voice low. Sylvie stared at him thoughtfully and then gave a brief nod.

“You'll do it.” She said firmly. “You will do it and you will be _fine.”_

“Is that an order, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, a smirk tugging at the side of his lips. Sylvie snorted before pressing her body against his as hard as she was able to.

“Yes, Commander. Consider it an order ...and I _won't_ stand for people disobeying my orders.” She scowled up at him but Cullen could see the glint of teasing in her eyes.

“I will endure ...and I will be fine...” Cullen pulled Sylvie's face closer, resting his cheek close to her ear, “...for you.”

Cullen felt Sylvie shiver as his breath ghosted over her ear, her fingers gripping at the hair at the back of his head. Lightly, he placed a kiss against her earlobe, suppressing a slight groan as she shuddered against him. Cullen's grip on Sylvie's hip tightened and he kissed across her cheek, capturing her lips in a firm kiss. Sylvie's back arched a little when he tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of her head, her hips pressing into his as her lips opened to let out a soft moan. Cullen could feel his body reacting to the feel of her hips against his and, without thinking, he began to guide her backwards. She was so _warm_ in his arms, her tongue hot and slick against his. He _felt_ as much as he heard every little noise Sylvie made in the back of her throat. Sylvie's back collided with a wall and her lips slipped from his with a gasp of surprise. Cullen's fingers reflexively tightened on her hip, hand sliding firmly upwards to grip at her waist.

She was looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, tongue flicking out to wet her bottom lip as she breathed in and out heavily. Cullen could feel a haze of sheer _need_ beginning to creep into his mind, almost every instinct calling for him to drop his mouth to Sylvie's neck ...to pull open her cloak ...run a hand up her thigh and lift it to wrap around his waist...

“We're ...in the Chantry...” Cullen said, voice low and breathy even to his own ears. It had been ...a _long_ time since he had felt such a _hunger_ for someone and there was something about the sensation of Sylvie's lips on his that drove him to the very brink of control.

“We are indeed in the Chantry...” Sylvie replied with a smile. “We should probably...” Her eyes fell to Cullen's lips, her breath clearly catching in her throat.

“Yes ...we should ...probably leave...” Cullen said, nearly finding his resolve disappear at the sight of Sylvie's teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

“This isn't really the place ...or the _time_ for ...this, is it?”

A rather insistent part of Cullen wanted to disagree but the more reasonable part of him knew that Sylvie was right. They had resolved their argument from the previous night ...even discussed the potential difficulties of a mage and former Templar being together ...there would be plenty of time for ...this kind of activity at a more appropriate time and in a much less blasphemous place.

“Cullen?” Sylvie's voice snapped him out of his reverie and Cullen took a regretful step backwards, rubbing the back of his neck. She smiled at him as she pushed herself off the wall, smoothing down her hair where Cullen's fingers had tangled in it. “As good a piece of gossip it would have been for the Inquisitor and Commander to get caught in the Chantry I think leaving is definitely the wise option.”

“I can assure you that the thought of getting caught did not even cross my mind.” Cullen replied with a chuckle.

“Well I'm rather flattered that I can make such a sensible, methodical person lose a little bit of control.” Sylvie commented with, what Cullen found to be, an endearingly cheeky smile.

“More than a little bit...” Cullen said quietly, not even sure Sylvie heard him until her head snapped up from where she was straightening her skewed and creased cloak. The slightest of flushes crept along Sylvie's cheeks and Cullen saw her swallow heavily. He rubbed at his forehead, turning towards the door and pulled it open, the wave of chilly air refreshing after the warmth of the Chantry. Sylvie stepped passed him and turned in the doorway, a spark of mischief in her green eyes that had Cullen briefly wondering what comment he was about to be subjected to.

“I ...have a feeling that the two of us will have more ...disagreements whether we mean to or not.” Sylvie began, keeping her voice low and casting a glance around to make sure no one was too close before smirking at him. “Maybe we can work _all_ those arguments out in the Chantry?”

Before Cullen could respond, Sylvie gave him a bright, deceptively innocent, smile and turned on her heel, striding across the garden and up the stairs that led to the main courtyard. Cullen realised he had been blatantly staring at Sylvie's retreating form when he noticed a couple of nearby soldiers and scouts doing a dreadful job of pretending that they weren't gossiping.

“Back to your duties, all of you.” He said sharply, all of them nodding and hurrying off in different directions. Cullen had to suppress a satisfied smirk, making his way to the stairs that would lead him up to the main hall, as he marvelled at how such a potentially terrible day could suddenly seem so much brighter. As fate would always have it, a messenger appeared beside him, silently handing him a piece of parchment before running off. Cullen opened the note, frowning.

_Knight-Captain,_

_Found what I was looking for in Crestwood. Send Inquisitor asap._

_Hawke_

With a long sigh, Cullen folded the note and slipped it into a pocket inside his cloak. He really _shouldn't_ have expected his good cheer to last.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to everyone reading/subbing/leaving kudos. I appreciate them all!


	26. I Don't Like Hawke

Unpleasant _didn't_ begin to describe the region of Crestwood. They had arrived at the Inquisition's forward camp after almost a week of travel and, within the hour, Dorian had already begun to forget what it felt like to be dry ...or warm ...or _clean_. The situation was made even more intolerable by the arrival of Hawke and the first of what would eventually prove to be a long string of arguments between her and Sylvie. It all started when the Champion appeared at the camp, interrupting Sylvie who was conversing with Scout Harding about the situation in the region. Apparently Crestwood wasn't merely just the perfect, sodden hiding place for a fugitive Grey Warden but also the kind of place that had a fade rift at the _bottom_ of a lake. A rift that not only spat out bothersome demons but also seemingly caused all manner of shambling corpses to rise from the murky depths and attack the Village of Crestwood. However, despite the less than stellar circumstances, it was Sylvie's choice of travelling companions that caused the first disagreement.

“Why is Varric not with you?” Hawke demanded of Sylvie without so much as a 'good of you to come to this squalid hell-hole'.

“We have to be careful with our resources _and_ a large party attracts too much attention so when I leave Skyhold it's always in a small group.” Sylvie replied, folding her arms defensively. She had confided in Dorian after the Champions visit to Skyhold that something about the other woman had instantly rubbed her the wrong way. He had been inclined to agree- Champion or not, Hawke came across as an entirely unpleasant human being.

Hawke turned to regard their group critically, icy blue eyes doing nothing to hide her contempt at the sight of The Iron Bull. Dorian had to concede that they probably looked less than impressive, bedraggled as they were. His hair was plastered to his head, Bull was splattered with mud from an earlier slide down a hillside and Blackwall was likely in immediate danger of rusting over.

“I didn't ask why your group was small- I asked why Varric wasn't in it.” Hawke said, eventually turning her narrowed gaze back to Sylvie but it was Bull who replied, hefting his maul over his shoulder.

“You three mages travelling through an unknown region needed more muscle than a lone warrior.” He turned his horned head to Blackwall and nodded. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Blackwall said with a shrug, the movement shaking water from the ends of his beard.

Dorian knew there was a touch more to Sylvie's choice in travelling companions than simply needing more muscle. Whether it was intentional on her part of not, the two times she had now ventured from Skyhold since the battle in Haven she had been accompanied by Dorian and the two warriors ...the same three people who had followed her out of Haven's Chantry, without hesitation, to face down an Archdemon. Dorian suspected that Sylvie viewed the three of them as a sort of battle-tested security blanket.

“My contact in the Wardens is staying well hidden in a cave not far from here.” Hawke said, abruptly changing the topic completely. “If we leave now and move quickly can reach him before nightfall.”

“No.” Sylvie replied plainly, her face remarkably impassive. Hawke scowled, placing her hands on her hips. Dorian had _never_ witnessed Sylvie being the level-headed one in any conversation and was thoroughly engrossed in watching the whole thing unfold.

“What do you mean 'no'?” Hawke snapped. “The whole point of you coming to Crestwood was to meet with him.”

“And I will ...but now that I am here and aware of the tiny matter of fucking _corpses_ rising from a lake that has a _fade rift_ in it I think that our priorities have changed.” Sylvie turned to face Dorian, Bull and Blackwall, her arms dropping to her sides. “We'll head to the village first and get as much information as we can. There might be a way to get to the rift that doesn't involve holding our breath for a really long time.” She turned back to Hawke. Her lips curved into one of the most fake smiles Dorian had ever witnessed on a person. It was only _marginally_ more condescending than his mother's favourite facial expression. Out of the corner of his eye, Dorian could see Bull holding back a laugh. “I'm sure your Grey Warden friend isn't going any where if he's as well hidden as you say he is but feel free to go and ask him politely to wait.”

“If you're going to be facing down corpses and demons then you're going to need all the help you can get.” Hawke drew her staff from her back, returning Sylvie's false smile with one of her own although it was rather less impressive in Dorian's opinion. “And I've been dealing with this sort of thing since you were learning how to light candles in the Circle.”

With that _lovely_ parting remark, Hawke headed down the road signposted with an arrow pointing towards the village. Sylvie followed quickly after, a scowl on her face as she stomped through the mud and puddles with excessive force. Blackwall was hot on her heels as always, the Warden never one to let Sylvie out of his sight for very long, leaving Dorian standing next to Bull as the two of them drank in the situation.

“You know, I always like a feisty redhead,” the Qunari began as he and Dorian fell into step, “but _that_ one...” he shook his horned head, lapsing into silence instead of finishing his train of thought.

The road towards the village was quiet, other than the constant sloshing of boots and occasional clap of thunder, giving Dorian time to reflect (not for the first time on this trip) on a conversation that he had with Cullen before leaving Skyhold. The Commander had various concerns about Sylvie spending time with Hawke, most of which stemmed from his interactions with the Champion when they were both in Kirkwall. From what Dorian had been told, Hawke was the most pro-rebellion of rebels and had been instrumental in undermining the authority of both the Circle and the Templar Order in the city at every given opportunity. She also had become hopelessly embroiled in an 'us against the world' romance with apostate mage, former Grey Warden and exploder-of-Chantrys, Anders. Some how Cullen's past with the Champion had raised some insane idea in his mind that she and Sylvie would get along splendidly and that Hawke would be something of a 'bad influence'. What the poor, lovestruck Commander hadn't seemed to realise was that Sylvie was as set in her ideals as a loyalist as Hawke was in her rebellious ways and that she had already taken a disliking to the Champion. Cullen _also_ hadn't counted on what happens when you throw two headstrong, bad tempered women into a pot and stir it all up. If they all made it back to Skyhold in one piece, Dorian would take as a sure sign of the Maker's favour.

Dorian was snapped from his musings by the shout of 'demons' from up ahead and he controlled the urge to mutter 'of course, there is'. He and Bull hurried forward, skidding to a halt beside Sylvie. Sure enough, there were several shades swarming around the gates of the village. There were only two local guards on the gate and to their credit, Dorian noticed that they had their swords drawn ready to engage with the demons. Without so much as a word, Sylvie turned and nodded to Bull and Blackwall, the warriors returning the gesture and stepping around her, rushing towards the demons. Spinning to face the gates, Sylvie fell into place close beside Dorian and they readied their staffs in almost perfect unison. Hawke took up position further forward than them but instinctively out of his and Sylvie's line of fire.

The fight was a quick one, shades and corpses both falling swiftly beneath the combined assault of spells and heavy weapons. Sylvie had stayed back from the skirmish, never once rushing in to punch something in the face, although at some point she had drifted further away from Dorian. Absently he realised that she had been keeping herself in line with Blackwall- _exactly_ as she had been instructed to do by ...everyone, actually.

Everything was rounding up rather swimmingly until the ground churned beneath Dorian's feet, a skeletal hand shooting up and seizing him around the ankle. He gave a short shout of surprise as he toppled ungracefully backwards, the rising corpse using Dorian's leg to drag itself out from the ground. He heard Sylvie call his name as he swung his staff, the end connecting with the corpses chin and sending the exposed jawbone flying into the distance quite satisfactorily. Despite this injury, the corpse appeared unfazed, it's other arm emerging from the ground to swing an old broken blade at Dorian's face. Before he could counter, the corpse flared and crackled, sparks of purple lightening jarring both it and Dorian. A flare of pain shot up his leg, senses assaulted by the sudden stench of charred leather and flesh.

He heard Sylvie shouting something at the same moment a huge hand wrapped around the limp corpse and tossed it away, bones rattling as it smacked against the ground. Dorian winced as he straightened his leg, looking down to the see the side of his boot scorched and ripped and a small patch of lightening shaped welts decorating his ankle. Absolutely delightful- they had only been in Crestwood an hour and already he was injured. Without the slightest bit of strain, Bull pulled Dorian into a standing position and the mage nodded in thanks. He caught a glimpse of Sylvie storming across the field and he looked around Bull's ridiculously broad chest just in time to see her come to a stop right in front for Hawke.

“This ought to be entertaining.” Dorian mumbled quietly to no one in particular.

“You could have killed him!” He heard Sylvie shout, brandishing her staff in Dorian's direction. “You can't just shoot lightening at something that has it's fucking hand wrapped around a persons leg!”

“He's fine, isn't he?” Hawke replied, her voice flat. Dorian and Bull made their way over to the two women, slight jolts of pain shooting up his leg every time he put any weight on it.

“I think 'fine' might be somewhat subjective at this point.” Dorian interjected with a brief hiss of pain as the ripped leather of his boots rubbed along his wound. Hawke glanced down briefly at Dorian's ankle before rolling her eyes.

“It's a flesh wound, nothing more.” She said dismissively, sheathing her staff on her back.

“I happen to be rather fond of my flesh, thank you very much.” Dorian replied tartly, folding his arms across his chest.

“One quick healing spell and I'm sure your man will be fine.” Hawke snapped, eyes flicking between the two of them before she strode off to talk to the local guards. The Champion was seemingly oblivious to the sudden bark of laughter from Bull that her comment had caused and even Dorian, charred as he was, could feel the corner of his lips quirk.

“Did she just call me 'your man'?” Dorian asked, looking to Sylvie with a raised eyebrow. She continued to glare at Hawke as she put her staff on her back.

“You three set up a camp for the night over there.” Sylvie instructed and pointed to a flat patch of land surrounded on two sides by high rocks. She was clearly still far too annoyed at Hawke to respond to Dorian's quip. “I'm going to see if I can speak to Crestwoods mayor.”

An hour later, Dorian was propped up against his pack by a more than welcome fire with a book in his hand. Blackwall had flattened out one of their tents, using the stretched out canvas, two long branches and the rocks behind their camp to create a make-shift gazebo. When Dorian realised it meant that they could have a firepit that wasn't in danger of constantly being doused by the rain he could have kissed the Warden on his ruddy, hairy cheek. Hawke had, it turned out, followed Sylvie into the village and neither of them had come back yet. Dorian fervently hoped that they hadn't blown each other up.

“So who would your money be on?” Bull asked, breaking the peaceful silence that Dorian had so be enjoying. He sighed, sitting his book down on his lap.

“Very well, I'll bite- _what_ are you talking about?” Dorian replied. Blackwall was also sitting beneath their make-shift roof and was looking at Bull questioningly.

“The Boss or The Champion- where would you place your bet?”

“The Inquisitor, of course.” Blackwall answered quickly before tugging at a piece of dried meat with his teeth. Dorian's eyebrows raised incredulously at the Warden and he leaned forward.

“Valerie Hawke fought her way through hordes of darkspawn to get to Kirkwall, she spent a whole _year_ working as a mercenary in the city- literally _killing_ people for a living. _Then_ she travelled through the Deep Roads where she made her vast fortune. She single-handedly defeated an Arishok in combat and took down a maniacal Knight-Commander...” Dorian paused when he noticed Bull and Blackwall frowning at him and he leant back, folding his arms defensively. “Am I the _only_ one here who has read Tale Of The Champion?”

“Apparently.” Blackwall replied plainly. “I still think the Inquisitor would stand a good shot and even if I didn't, I _still_ wouldn't bet against her.”

“What a loyal soldier you are.” Dorian remarked with a snort. “I love Sylvie very much...”

“That's because you're her man...” Bull interrupted with a hearty chuckle that Blackwall echoed. Dorian rolled his eyes at the both of them. It wasn't the first time that someone had formed that hideously mistaken opinion and he was certain it wouldn't be the last.

“As I was saying- I love Sylvie and she is a gifted mage who seems to get better with every fight,” The other two nodded in agreement before Dorian continued. “ _However_ ...at this precise moment in time I don't think that is a fight she could win.” Bull and Blackwall exchanged a glance.

“I'm telling the Boss you said that.” Bull said casually, reaching into his pack and pulling out a dark glass bottle.

“Now _that_ would be a fight I'd happily see.” Blackwall chimed in with a laugh. “And yes, my money would still be on her.”

“Who's fighting?” Sylvie's voice startled the three of them. Dorian leaned out to look outside the canvas to see her standing there, eyebrow raised at the three of them and her hands on her hips.

“Boss, come join the party.” Bull said, shifting to the side so Sylvie could stoop and make her way to the fireside. She threw herself down beside Dorian, taking the bottle that Bull was offering her. She sniffed cautiously and her face screwed up.

“Maraas-lok ...really, Bull?” Despite her reaction, Sylvie still took a long swig from the bottle and shuddered as she passed it back to the Qunari.

“Lost your taste for it after last time?” Bull remarked with a grin and Sylvie laughed.

“A little bit, yes.” She reached for her own pack, triumphantly producing a bottle of wine. “Luckily I came prepared.”

“Have I told you recently how much I love you, my dear.” Dorian said, eagerly snatching the bottle from Sylvie's hand. She swatted him on the arm and grabbed it back.

“That's because you're my man.” She said with a smirk, pulling out the cork.

“I knew that the rumours of your romance with the Commander were just a smokescreen.” Blackwall quipped as he distributed some of their food around the group.

“Sylvie isn't _that_ good of an actress, there is no way she could fake that gooey eyed look when she sees Cullen.” Dorian's comment drew laughs from Bull and Blackwall and earned him a severe glare from Sylvie.

"No point in denying it Boss.” Bull said, taking a swig from his bottle. “We've all seen it.”

“Oh ...fuck off, the lot of you.” Sylvie grumbled, barely managing to conceal the look of amusement on her face. She took a long mouthful of wine, swallowing deeply before _finally_ passing the bottle to Dorian. If she hadn't, he was already formulating a plan to quickly snatch it from her grasp. She shuffled closer, leaning her soggy head on Dorian's shoulder. “I spoke with Crestwoods mayor- the only way to reach the fade rift is to drain the lake using the dam controls.”

“I'm sensing a but...” Blackwall remarked, leaning over to take the offered bottle of Maraas-Lok from Bull.

“But in order to reach the dam controls we have to go through a stronghold called Caer Bronach...” Sylvie trailed off, distracted from what she was saying.

Dorian leaned forward, Bull and Blackwall both turning round in almost comedic unison to see Hawke reaching the camp. She paused for a moment, pushing her sodden, red hair behind her ears. Briefly, Hawke looked like she was about to sit down and join them before her eyes dropped to where Sylvie was leaning into Dorian. A steely look passed across her features, jaw clenched tight, and she turned on her heel and entered one of the tents set up at the edge of their shelter instead. Apparently The Champion disapproved of Sylvie's perceived romantic choice, oh how wonderful it would be when she finally discovered that the Inquisitor was actually hopelessly smitten with Kirkwall's former Knight-Captain.

“That was ...strange.” Blackwall commented, handing Bull his bottle back.

“There's an underwater fade rift and corpses are popping up from the ground yet a person being unamiable is the thing that you call strange?” Dorian replied with a frown. He gave his head a shake before resting his cheek on the top of Sylvie's head. She always ran a little hotter than other people and her extra warmth was most welcome in his chilly state.

“Anyway, Boss.” Bull said as he leant forward, his one eye glinting almost mischievously in the light of the fire. “Who or _what_ do we need to kill to get through this stronghold?”

“I'm guessing...” Dorian tapped his lip thoughtfully. “Bandits!”

“And today's prize goes to the moustachioed mage from Tevinter.” Sylvie replied grimly. “According to the Mayor, they've been there for a while so they're going to take a lot of convincing to leave.”

“I'm assuming you have more of a plan than politely asking them to vacate the building?” Dorian asked. He was forced to lift his head up when Sylvie leaning forward to rummage in one of her pockets. She pulled out a tattered and rather damp piece of parchment and spread it out on the ground.

“The Mayor gave me this map of the hold, we just need to decide on the best plan of attack.”

They talked well into the night, finally agreeing to assault the keep just before dawn. Blackwall volunteered to take the first watch with Bull, leaving Dorian and Sylvie to retire to their tent for a few hours. They laid out their bedrolls in silence and Dorian could see Sylvie scowling every so often as she hauled the blanket out of her pack.

“What did that unfortunate blanket do to make you hate it so?” He eventually asked, sitting down to pull off his boots. The right one was almost completely ruined after Hawke's rescue and he put it to the side with a sigh.

“I don't like Hawke.” Sylvie replied flatly, dropping down onto her bedroll.

“ _Really?”_ Dorian said sarcastically. “And here I thought I would have to challenge The Champion of Kirkwall to a duel for the position of your best friend.”

“I don't know what it is.” Sylvie sighed, flopping onto her side. “But every time she speaks I feel like I want to punch her in the face.”

“As entertaining as that would be for all of us, I would recommend not doing that.” Dorian replied, sitting down and running his hands over his injured ankle. It still stung slightly and the skin was still mottled and raised despite his attempts to heal it earlier.

“Are you all right?” Sylvie asked with a scowl, her green eyes trained on his ankle.

“I'm sure I will survive.” Dorian replied, lying down on his own bedroll. “There's no need to gallantly avenge my injury.”

“Well I do need to defend my man.” Sylvie snorted as she pulled her blanket up to her chin. “I can only imagine what Hawke's reaction will be when she finds out about me and Cullen.”

“Oddly enough, my dear, I had the same thought. I noticed you didn't bother to correct her earlier.” He remarked, adjusting his lumpy and rather musty smelling pillow. It was times like this that he thoroughly missed the warm comforts of Skyhold.

“It didn't seem worth it.” Sylvie replied. “We were already arguing about the fact that she could have _killed_ you and I didn't feel like starting another debate.”

“That was _very_ sensible of you.” Dorian said. “You know, you really _are_ beginning to settle into this Inquisitor business rather nicely.” He heard Sylvie sigh as she rolled onto her back.

“I don't have much of a choice, do I? After what happened in Redcliffe, we both know what's at stake if I fail ...the whole fucking world is depending on me to defeat Corypheus and I can't even bring myself to get along with one person.”

“Baby steps, my sweet Sylvie” Dorian responded. “Let's worry about making friends _after_ we clear a stronghold of bandits and stop corpses wandering out from the depths of a lake.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for yet another delay with this chapter, real life just doesn't seem to want me updating as regularly as I would like! Thanks as always to everyone reading/leaving comments/kudos, you will never know how much it makes me smile!


	27. Guests

 

“Commander?”

Cullen looked up from where his cheek was resting on his fist, elbow propped up on the only clear patch of desk between countless pieces of parchment. Leliana made her way into his office, closing the door softly behind her. Normally Cullen was mildly unnerved by how silently the Spymaster's booted feet could move along a stone floor. Today, however, given the pounding behind his eyes he actually found the unsettling silence to be welcome.

“Word from the Inquisitor?” He asked, eyes dropping to the small roll of parchment she had clasped in her hand as he straightened in his chair.

“The Inquisitor reports that they have met with Hawke's contact, an Orlesian Warden by the name of Stroud and are returning immediately to Skyhold with both him and The Champion.” Leliana replied, leaning her hands on Cullen's desk. “Prior to that, they gained access to a fade rift at the bottom of a lake that was causing corpses to rise from the waters to attack the village.”

“Corpses?” Cullen repeated with a frown, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Is this some ...new development in the rifts?” Demons pouring out of tears in the fade were bad enough, he didn't relish the thought that they would now be facing the walking dead as well.

“The corpses were already in the lake. I have consulted with Solas on the matter and he believes their ...reanimation is likely a result of demonic possession caused by the appearance of the fade rift in the caves beneath the water.” Leliana sighed and folded her arms across her chest before she continued. “Upon her return to the village, the Inquisitor found the Mayor missing and a note left behind- he made the decision to flood the area during the Blight.”

“These ...corpses...” His eyebrows raised as the realisation dawned on him. “They were former villagers?”

“Villagers and refugees that the village had taken in. Mayor Dedrick opened the dam in secret when it became clear to him that the infection of the Blight could not be contained.” Leliana's voice was steely, her face completely impassive as she relayed the information.

“Maker have mercy...” Cullen sighed, leaning back heavily in his chair. Ten years on and the horrors of the Blight were still haunting Fereldan. He absently wondered how long the wounds that Corypheus had inflicted on Thedas would linger.

“The Mayor had few options, by acting as he did it is likely that he saved countless lives.”

“By _murdering_ countless others.” Cullen retorted. He could feel his stomach roiling at the thought of all those innocent souls, huddled in the caves as the cold water crept up around them.

“You know as well as I do that there is no cure for the Blight, Commander.” Leliana said firmly. Cullen looked up at her incredulously, hands splaying on his desk as he rose from his chair.

“Are you attempting to _justify_ his actions?” He asked, unable to keep the note of disbelief from his voice. “Impossible choice or not, this man should be found and brought to account for his crimes.”

“It would seem that the Inquisitor agrees with you.” Leliana replied flatly as she sat the small scroll on his desk. “She has asked that I dispatch agents immediately to locate Mayor Dedrick and have him escorted to Skyhold. You will find full details of the Inquisitor's trip to Crestwood in her report, including information about a keep named Caer Bronach that they acquired control of that will prove a valuable asset to the Inquisition.”

“I will read it at once and begin preparations to send soldiers to man and maintain this keep.” Cullen reached for the report when he spotted another scroll in Leliana's other hand and he nodded to it. “Was there something else?”

“This one...” The smallest ghost of a smile flitted across the Spymaster's features as she held out her hand. “This one is specifically for you.” She handed it over and inclined her head in farewell as she turned to leave his office, drifting out as silently as she had entered.

Cullen tried, and failed, not to smile as he sat back down in his chair. Given the discussion about the Blight and mass murders it seemed ...inappropriate to have a foolish grin on his face at the mere sight of his name written in Sylvie's curly script but he had found that he seemed to miss her more with every day she was gone from Skyhold.

_Cullen,_

_While I'm sure you will thoroughly read my 'official' report I very much wanted to give you a more personal account of my time in Crestwood. It has been fucking horrible. The weather was terrible. We had to fight corpses that turned out to be villagers that the Mayor drowned during the Blight. We had to fight bandits in a keep because they wouldn't politely leave. We had to fight a rage demon in a cave. Here's a fun piece of trivia- Inferno magic? Useless against them. I had to use ice. I wasn't happy. We met a Warden who tells us that_ _ all _ _Wardens in Orlais are hearing the Calling- essentially they all think they're dying and soon. It's probably false and probably Corypheus' doing. All this happened while I was trying not to punch The Champion of Kirkwall in the face. She is_ _ not _ _pleasant to be around._

_We are returning to Skyhold with Hawke and the Warden. He has a spectacular moustache and I am now surrounded by some of the most impressive facial hair in Thedas. Bull is the odd one out but apparently Qunari don't grow beards. He suggested I grow one instead if I'm so concerned about everyone matching. I am taking it under advisement._

_See you soon,_

_Sylvie_

Cullen went to place the letter on his desk but thought the better of it and placed it carefully in one of his drawers. It wouldn't do for a scout or soldier to read the Inquisitor's frank words and there was a part of him that rather looked forward to adding further such letters from Sylvie at a later date. Based on the information in her letter and how long the journey from Crestwood was, Cullen estimated that Sylvie and her party would return in around three days, four at most. While there was a distinct flutter in his stomach at the prospect of seeing her, the much more rational part of Cullen's mind was focussed instead on the fact that Hawke was returning with her. The last time The Champion was in Skyhold, Cullen had managed to avoid any and all interaction with her until he received the note that she had found Warden Stroud. This time ...given the information they had acquired and the plans required to move forward it was exceedingly likely that he would need to have at least _some_ contact with her.

He sighed, picking up Sylvie's official report and unrolling the scroll. Perhaps he would be fortunate and The Champion would choose to camp at the bottom of the mountain. Surely that wasn't too much to hope?

\- - -

It was well past sundown on the fourth day after receiving Sylvie's letter that an extremely hesitant and rather bewildered looking soldier entered his office. Cullen was naturally still awake, diligently pouring over the most recent inventory reports on weapons and armour for their troops. They were receiving recruits faster than they could equip them and Cullen made a mental reminder to speak to Josephine in the morning to find out if there was some extra aid that they could call on.

“Is everything all right, Corporal?” Cullen asked the soldier, sitting the parchment down. It was never a promising sign when the soldier in charge of the night watch appeared in his office looking confused.

“I just received word from the lookouts at the base of Skyhold that the Inquisitor and her party are on their way up.” She replied, hands clasping behind her and back straightening into a position of attention.

“In the middle of the night?” Cullen asked, mostly to himself. He could now understand the rather puzzled look on the Corporal's face.

“Yes, Ser. Inquisition orders are for anyone returning to come up the mountain in daylight unless necessary- safer that way. The men didn't report any obvious injuries and they don't appear to be in any hurry but it seemed ...odd. I assumed you would want to know right away.”

“Thank you, Corporal.” Cullen replied as he stood up from his desk. His brows drew together in a frown. “Did your men report anyone _else_ travelling with the Inquisitor?” The Corporal shifted uneasily from foot to foot at the question and Cullen knew he had his answer before she even replied.

“That's the other thing, Ser. There are two others with the Inquisitor, one of them apparently looks to be wearing the armour of a Grey Warden and the other looks like...”

Cullen held up his hand to stop her mid-sentence. Sylvie was clearly returning with Hawke in tow and had made the decision to return under the cover of night so as to avoid attention. It was a smart move- the less people that knew of Hawke's presence the better.

“I am aware of who this other ...companion looks like.” Cullen rubbed absently at the back of his neck as he stepped around his desk. “You are to tell your men to breathe a word of it to _no one_ at my command. The same goes for you, Corporal. Dismissed.”

“Of course, Ser!” The Corporal saluted and turned sharply, swiftly leaving his office to relay the command to her men.

Cullen gave it a few minutes before leaving the office himself, descending the steps and passing through the portcullis onto the bridge. He reached the bridge just in time to see Sylvie and her party coming through the gate at the opposite end. It was The Iron Bull he spotted first, leading his monstrously large stallion by the reins. The horse had become a bit of a wonder when it first arrived in Skyhold, Master Dennett claiming it to be the most impressive horse he had ever seen.

Waiting patiently by the portcullis with his hands resting on his sword, Cullen eventually spotted Sylvie leading her own horse and he felt a small twinge of sympathy to her previous mount, the infamous Cheddar, who had been lost along with so many other good horses when Haven fell. Just within sight at the back of the party, he spotted the occasional flash of red hair and he felt his hands reflexively tighten their grip on his sword. He saw Sylvie smile when she spotted him, all thoughts of the Champion briefly fleeing his mind at the sight of her. She passed off the reins of her horse to Blackwall and strode ahead of her party.

“Good evening, Commander.” Sylvie commented with a smile that betrayed the somewhat formal tone of her voice. For a passing moment Cullen had to push down the sudden urge to pull her into an embrace and kiss her.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor.” He replied with a nod, clearing his throat and lowering his voice as he leaned in a little. “I am pleased to see that you chose not to grow a beard.” Sylvie laughed heartily, a sound Cullen hadn't realised how much he had missed until he heard it again.

“It didn't suit me so I shaved it off this morning.” She quipped back, green eyes glinting in the light of the torches. She quickly returned to a more neutral expression as the rest of the party caught up and she turned to face them. “Blackwall? Could you, Bull and Dorian take all the horses to the stables? I believe there may be ...a discussion to be had with the Commander and our ...guests.” Cullen didn't fail to note the slight way that her face screwed up at the word 'guests'.

“It's not like any of us were looking forward to a hot bath and a soft bed.” Dorian muttered, sounding more than a little sullen. Sylvie rolled her eyes at the other mage and folded her arms across her chest.

“Oh for Andraste's sake it will take you five minutes.” She replied before raising an eyebrow. “Unless you _want_ to be part of the discussions?” Dorian shuddered dramatically.

“Maker no ...I've heard enough _discussions_ to last me a lifetime.” He sighed and shook his head. “Very well, come along my fellow lackeys. Let's leave the people in charge to deal with the important things.”

The three men quickly organised who was leading what horse and walked passed Cullen into the courtyard. Blackwall, rather ominously, paused and whispered “good luck, Commander” as he passed by. Cullen turned from watching them leave to finally look at the woman he had hoped to never see again in his life. On the surface, the Hawke in front of him looked much different from the mage who had fled Kirkwall three years earlier. Her red hair was shorter, skin significantly more lined and weathered. There was also a long scar running along her right cheek and a smaller scar on her bottom lip. Those steely blue eyes were the same though- constantly wary, constantly ...accusatory. A tense silence settled over them which was finally broken by Sylvie clearing her throat and speaking.

“Commander Cullen, this is Warden Stroud.” Sylvie said by way of introduction and Cullen took Stroud's offered hand and shook it.

“It is nice to meet you at last.” The Warden remarked in his strong Orlesian accent. “I have heard ...a great deal about you.” Cullen noticed Sylvie's eyes narrow a little as she shot a glance in Hawke's direction but she, surprisingly to Cullen, kept her mouth shut.

“The Inquisition is grateful for your help, Warden Stroud.” Cullen replied politely, letting go of the other mans hand. “I have little doubt that any assistance you can provide will be invaluable.”

“And of course you know Valerie Hawke...” Sylvie said, green eyes constantly flicking between Cullen and The Champion as if she were expecting a fight to break out at any second ...which with Hawke around was entirely possible.

“I never expected to be facing you again, Knight-Captain.”

Cullen felt his jaw clench, a retort ready on his tongue but Sylvie spoke first, her voice cracking like an angry whip through the night air.

“That is _not_ his title.” She snapped and Cullen could almost feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at hearing Sylvie using practically the same words he had so often said himself. Hawke pressed her lips into a thin line but said nothing.

“Perhaps we should move somewhere less ...open while we all get acquainted.” Stroud interjected and Cullen nodded at him, half in agreement and half in silent thanks.

“My office is in the tower above us, if you'll follow me.”

Without a further word, Cullen made his way into the courtyard and up the stairs, Sylvie falling into step beside him. He chanced a look at her when they reached his door and she was very much wearing the expression of someone who was trying not to lose her temper. A few months ago it was likely that she would have already tried to set Hawke on fire and, in spite of the circumstances, it was welcoming to see this change in her as she continued to grow into the role of Inquisitor. Once they were all inside his office, Cullen closed the door behind him and opted to stand beside Sylvie. Hawke and Stroud had taken up position on the opposite side of the room, an unmistakable divide between the four of them.

“Well isn't _this_ quite a step up from a Circle Tower.” Hawke commented bluntly as she looked around the office. “And not a single thing emblazoned with a flaming sword. I'd almost be impressed if I were actually convinced by this whole 'not a Templar' thing.”

“While Ambassador Montilyet put a great deal of effort into furnishing Skyhold, I didn't bring you all the way here to discuss décor.” Sylvie responded, her jaw tight and arms folded defensively. She turned her attention to Stroud, expression growing mildly less strained. “Stroud, please tell the Commander all the relevant information surrounding the Wardens.”

At Sylvie's request, Stroud began his story with how he was investigating if Corypheus could have survived the wounds that Hawke had inflicted on him. Cullen could sense his own expression darkening as the tale descended into information about a, seemingly, false Calling that the Orlesian Wardens had begun to hear and Warden-Commander Clarel's subsequent plan to turn to blood magic in order to raise an army of demons to invade the Deep Roads. It was of little surprise to Cullen that the idea had been planted in Clarel's head by one of the Venatori.

“Stroud believes that this Lord Erimond is actually a servant of Corypheus and that these blood rituals that he proposed may actually bind the Wardens to the Dark Spawn Magister. From what Stroud has been able to uncover, we think that Erimond is somewhere in the Western Approach.” Sylvie eventually chimed in when Stroud had finished his grim report. Cullen ran a hand absently through his hair and began to pace back and forth as he digested the information.

“Then we should send men there at once to scout the area.” Cullen suggested, pausing his pacing to look at Sylvie who nodded in agreement. She opened her mouth to reply but it was Hawke who spoke up from the other side of the room.

“No, Inquisition forces will draw too much attention.” She said firmly. “Stroud and I will leave for the Approach within the next day or two and send a report back.”

“I wasn't proposing sending an army.” Cullen snapped, taking a deep breath as he rested his hands on his sword. He noticed the way that Hawke's icy blue eyes followed the movement. “We will send some of Leliana's spies, it's their job _not_ to be seen.”

“Or you could just send out a band of Templars.” Hawke replied, her tone deceptively casual. She tilted her head. “Isn't that your preferred method of dealing with things, Knight-Captain? Like the ones you sent along the Wounded Coast to hunt down me and Anders. Haven't you wondered how I got this scar?” Hawke turned her face slightly, bringing the long scar on her cheek into better view.

“Anders was a dangerous apostate ...an _abomination_ who destroyed a Chantry full of innocent people and _you_ were an apostate that stood by and let him do it before you aided the mages in the battle at the Gallows!” Cullen said, his voice raising angrily despite the fact that he _knew_ rising to Hawke's bait was the worst thing he could do. Hawke snorted derisively before she narrowed her eyes and took a step towards him.

“No one in that Chantry was innocent. Whether they were outwardly corrupt or not, they lost their right to claim innocence the moment they joined that oppressive and discriminatory order.” Hawke lowered her tone dangerously as she took another step forward. “Just like you did. You think that just because you left your Templar armour behind in Kirkwall that it absolves you of the _crimes_ that you committed under Meredith's command? Once a Templar, always a Templar ... _Knight-Captain_.”

“That's _enough!_ ” Sylvie's shout echoed off the walls of Cullen's office and as she stepped between him and Hawke he could feel the familiar thrum of her magic now her temper was flaring. “You are here as a _guest_ of the Inquisition and you are speaking to it's _Commander_. I expect _anyone_ in Skyhold to treat him with the respect that his rank implies ...respect that he has rightly _earned_ since joining at the request of the right hand of the Divine no less.”

Cullen took a step backwards from The Champion whereas Hawke turned sharply to face Sylvie. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen noticed Stroud moving a little nearer to the argument perhaps also sensing that the situation was close to exploding at any second.

“I can't believe what I'm actually hearing!” Hawke spat, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Inquisitor or not, you are a _mage_ first and foremost yet you stand there and blindly defend a man who you probably know next to nothing about. Tell me, _Inquisitor_ , has the Knight-Captain ever told you about the beatings that went on inside the Circle? Or how many times he _personally_ pressed the brand of tranquillity into an innocent mages skin?”

Cullen noticed Sylvie's jaw clench tightly upon hearing Hawke's accusations but he knew that there was little point in trying to speak up in his defence while The Champion was in the room.

“Instead of standing here defending him and arguing with me,” Hawke continued, her voice still loud with animosity, “you should be giving me your _thanks_. If it wasn't for what Anders did in Kirkwall you'd probably still be locked up in your tower.”

“I should _thank_ you?” Sylvie asked incredulously, taking a dangerous step towards Hawke. “If it weren't for your precious Anders there might not have even been a Conclave to send me to and I wouldn't be in this fucking mess in the first place!”

Cullen knew Sylvie was making a mistake the second Anders' name left her mouth. The almost all-consuming love between The Champion and Anders had been well known throughout Kirkwall and beyond after Varric had put their tale into words. Before anyone could so much as blink there was a brief surge in magic and a sudden crack rent the air. Cullen saw Sylvie thrown backwards by a blast of the force magic that Hawke was always so fond of and she collided hard with a bookcase, sending most of the tomes toppling from the shelves before she dropped to the floor. Without hesitation, reacting on years of instinct, Cullen thrust his hand in Hawke's direction as he felt the familiar chill of a silence trickle down his arm.

There was a brief but bright cloud of blue that descended over the Champion and while she wavered, staggering to lean heavily on the desk, she did not fall to the floor as so many often did. Hawke took in several gulping breaths as she gave him a vicious grin.

“Once a Templar, always a Templar.” She practically hissed, her voice hoarse.

Cullen completely disregarded the remark, instead hurrying to where Sylvie was still seated on the floor and dropping to his knees beside her. Behind him, he was dimly aware of Stroud moving towards Hawke, his words too quiet for Cullen to hear. He grasped Sylvie's chin carefully between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face towards him gently. Involuntarily, he sucked in a breath when he saw the slow drip of blood from her nose.

“Sylvie...” He said softly, fingers sliding up to push the hair from her face. She blinked a few times, bleary green eyes eventually seeming to focus on his face. “Are you all right?”

Hesitantly, she nodded and Cullen let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. Sylvie's expression darkened when she pressed a hand to her nose, pulling it away to study the smear of blood along her knuckles. He could feel the spark of her magic and he took both of her hands in his, giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Cullen _hoped_ that she took at as a suggestion not to make things any worse by retaliating.

“Can you help me up?” She asked quietly so only Cullen could hear her.

Inclining his head, Cullen got to his feet and with, perhaps excessive, care pulled Sylvie to her feet. She swayed slightly and Cullen immediately put a hand on the small of her back to steady her but she waved him off, pushing passed him. A curious look appeared on her face when she took in Hawke's condition. The palid skin, the shortness of breath ...the slight sheen of sweat- all indicative of being silenced if a person knew the signs to look for. Cullen kept his face as impassive as he could when Sylvie looked at him questioningly and he could see the thoughts forming in her head. It was certainly going to be ...interesting to explain the use of his Templar abilities when he didn't quite understand the situation himself.

The Champion herself was looking at them oddly, brows drawn together in a thoughtful frown as her eyes flicked from Cullen to Sylvie and then back again. For the briefest of moments there was a glimmer of disbelief on her face but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“So what now, Inquisitor?” Hawke said, trying and failing to stand up straight without the aid of the desk.

“You attacked the Inquisitor!” Cullen snapped in spite of himself. “If we locked you in the dungeons there isn't a person in Skyhold who would disagree with our decision.” He felt Sylvie put a placating hand on his arm.

“The Commander is right.” She agreed, letting her hand fall back to her side. “But we won't. You remember which room you used the last time you were here?” She waited for Hawke to nod before she continued. “Good- _use it_. No one is to see you, or hear from you. I want you out of Skyhold and on your way to the Western Approach at nightfall tomorrow.”

“It will be as you ask, Inquisitor.” Stroud said before Hawke could open her mouth. He took the Champion by the arm and lead her to the door. Cullen could see from the rather forceful way that the Warden manoeuvred her that he was less than pleased by Hawke's actions. The moment the door closed behind them, Sylvie groaned and stiffly walked behind Cullen's desk, dropping into his chair with an “ouch”.

“I need to learn that spell.” She remarked absently, rubbing at her forehead.

Her nose had stopped bleeding and had left a dry smear above her lip and along her cheek. Cullen grabbed a clean rag from a shelf behind him before making his way around the desk to stand in front of her. He dipped the cloth into a flagon of water on the desk and wiped it gently across Sylvie's cheek. She frowned up at him as he cleaned off the dried blood.

“You silenced her.” She remarked, sitting forward slightly. Cullen sighed and sat the rag down, leaning on the desk and breaking her gaze. “Did you start taking lyrium again?”

“What? No! I mean ...of course I haven't.” Cullen's eyes drifted back to hers and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I once heard ...speculation that a Templars abilities were not _necessarily_ linked to lyrium ...that they could be used without it.”

“So it's true then?” Sylvie's eyebrows raised in surprise. “I remember Cassandra once told me that the Seekers have similar abilities to Templars but it takes them _years_ of training and discipline to be able to do it without lyrium.”

“It's entirely possible that some latent abilities still linger. I've taken lyrium since I formally took my vows over thirteen years ago and from my ...symptoms after stopping it is clear that there is still a large amount in my system.” Cullen paused to snort self-deprecatingly. “There aren't exactly many people wandering around who have quit lyrium that we can ask.”

“Yes because they're probably dead.” Sylvie replied tartly, a scowl on her face before her expression softened. Cullen supposed it was only likely that she would respond in such a manner, realising that his comment may have been in poor taste. “Did you know the silence would work?”

“I ...suspected it might.” Cullen responded, folding his arms. “I can still sense magic in people and I am still able to tell when someone's magic is close enough to the surface that a spell is imminent. It seemed reasonable to assume that a silence would also still be effective. How long that will continue, however ...I cannot say.”

“Well I'm pretty thankful it's at least effective for now.” Sylvie snorted. Her eyebrows suddenly raised, green eyes growing wide as a thought clearly dawned on her. “Hang on, when we were arguing about you quitting lyrium...”

“When _you_ were arguing, you mean.” He interrupted, the side of his mouth curving upwards in smirk. Sylvie scowled and swatted playfully at his leg. Cullen caught her hand easily, lacing his fingers instinctively with hers.

“When _we_ were arguing- when my magic was flaring ...you could have silenced me at any point?” She asked and Cullen nodded wordlessly in response, brushing his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. Sylvie stood up from the chair, using Cullen's grip on her hand to pull herself towards him. “But you didn't...”

“Of course I didn't.” Cullen replied as he stood up straight and cupped a hand around her cheek. “I would never...”

“Surely one of the first things they teach young Templars is to silence a mage that's about to set them on fire?” Sylvie quipped. She leaned her cheek further into Cullen's palm, her eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

“At no point did I actually think you were going to set me on fire.” Cullen said earnestly. Sylvie moved in closer, the entire length of her body pressed against his and Cullen could feel the familiar bloom of _need_ growing in the pit of his stomach.

“It was more your office I was going to set on fire anyway.”

“Well that's ...good to know.” Cullen chuckled. He wrapped his arms around Sylvie's waist, resting his cheek on the side of her head as he heard her let out a small contented sigh.

“I missed you.” She murmured into his neck, her every exhale sending jolts down his spine. Cullen pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, fingers absently tracing paths up and down her back.

“I missed you too, Sylvie.”

He pulled back just enough to be able to see her face before capturing her lips in a soft kiss. The response from her was instant, the sound of her soft moan reverberating against his breastplate as she slipped her tongue against his. Cullen felt the rake of her fingers through his hair as she titled her head to deepen the kiss, another low moan sounding in the back of her throat when his hands dropped to settle on her hips. It was those little sounds, Cullen realised, that drove him to the very edges of control ...the hitches in her breath ...the soft sighs and quiet moans as he kissed her. Gently, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, chuckling at the poorly concealed huff of annoyance as he did so.

“That was more like the welcome home I had been thinking about while I was gone.” Sylvie said quietly, fingers mindlessly playing with the hair at the back of his head.

“It was certainly more enjoyable than having to silence The Champion of Kirkwall in my own office.” Cullen replied, smiling as Sylvie buried her face in the fur of his cloak to conceal her yawn.

“That must be my queue to leave before I fall asleep on you.” She extracted herself from his embrace and Cullen could feel a flush blossoming on his cheeks at the sudden image of exactly that. He, much more than seemed reasonable, wanted to suggest that she stay but instead Cullen simply leaned in to kiss her again- a soft, closed mouthed kiss that elicited another intoxicating sigh from her.

“Good night, Cullen.” Sylvie smiled as she pulled away. “I'd like everyone in the War Room after breakfast to bring them up to speed.”

“I will see you in the morning, then. Sleep well, Sylvie.” Cullen inclined his head, impressed by her seemingly newfound ability to be both Sylvie and the Inquisitor at once. It gave him heart that their ...relationship would not find itself in the way of Inquisition business. He walked her to the door of his office, finding himself quite unable to resist kissing her one last time before she turned away.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a hundred thank yous to everyone reading/subbing/leaving kudos and comments. You can follow me on my recently re-vamped [Tumblr](http://kittydrakeheart.tumblr.com/) where you can find a brief(ish) bio of Sylvie linked in the menu and where I also hope to begin writing and posting bits of Sylvie's story, codex entries and 'off-screen moments', that don't necessarily have a home in the main fic but that I want to put into words nonetheless. Also, if anyone else happens to want to hear about how my Hawke got her scar, that particular injury is received in my smut and fighting filled one-shot [Hunted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5879119)


	28. Easily Distracted

“Well this is new.”

Sylvie glanced around the empty war room as she closed the door behind her. When she had passed through the main hall it appeared that breakfast was drawing to a close and she, wrongfully assumed, that she was going to be late. She was _never_ the first one here ...maybe some terrible fate had befallen her advisors and someone forgot to tell her. She took up position on her usual side of the war table, placing her mug of tea down before practically sitting up on the table.

Sylvie was still aching that morning after what had happened with Hawke. She knew that one of the healers would be able to remove her pain easily but they were almost compulsively _nosey_ and she was a terrible liar. The last thing anyone needed was word getting out that The Champion of Kirkwall had simply and effectively nearly knocked out the Inquisitor. She knew that her abilities had improved immensely in the last few months but to be taken out _so_ quickly ...there was clearly a lot more for her to learn before she had any hope of defeating Corypheus. Depending on how long she was going to remain in Skyhold, Sylvie decided it would be a good idea to see if Dorian, Vivienne and Solas would take the time to spar with her. The door opening distracted her from her reverie.

“Good morning, Inquisitor.” Leliana said as she glided into the room and went to the other side of the table. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm assuming you mean after my trip to Crestwood...” Sylvie slid off the war table, turning to face the Spymaster just in time to see the Leliana's brow briefly furrow before her face became a blank mask again.

“Of course, I am unsure what else I would mean.” The Spymaster folded her arms, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“I'm ...sore.” Sylvie replied plainly, well aware that Leliana likely knew what had happened the previous night. It was almost scary how the Spymaster found out about _everything_. More than once, Sylvie had wanted to ask just how Leliana got all her information but she figured that as Inquisitor it might be better if she _didn't_ know.

“I see you found the new clothes that arrived while you were gone.” Leliana said, changing the subject completely. “I took the liberty of making some ...alterations to Madame De Fer's list before it was sent. Several of the outfits were things you would likely have set on fire.”

“Then I owe you my thanks.” Sylvie replied with a chuckled. “I'm not even sure I like these clothes they're a bit ...tight.” She looked down at herself, her figured well-defined by the close cut of her jacket and form-fitting leggings. She'd nearly fallen over earlier that morning just trying to wiggle into the bloody things. Leliana let out a light chuckle of her own.

“They _fit_ , Inquisitor. Josie has been lamenting for months about the image that your loose fitting outfits convey. She will be delighted when she sees you this morning.”

As if on queue, Sylvie heard Josephine's voice carrying down the corridor before the war room door opened.

“There are a few more favours I can call on, Commander. If all goes well I can have more supplies for the soldiers here within the fortnight.” Sylvie glanced over her shoulder to see the Ambassador and Cullen enter the war room. Sure enough a surprised smile lit up Josephine's face. “Inquisitor! You look lovely this morning.”

“Yes doesn't she Commander?” Leliana interjected and every gaze in the room fell to Cullen. There was a significant pause between the question and Cullen actually speaking. He looked up sharply, only meeting Sylvie's gaze for the briefest moment before his eyes darted away.

“Oh yes ...of course, very ...nice.” He replied absently as he made his way to the other side of the table. He rubbed at the back of his neck and Sylvie saw Leliana and Josephine exchange amused glances. She had a sneaking suspicion that Cullen had just been spotted staring at her rear and the prospect of that made warmth flood all the way to her toes.

“Why don't you fill us in on your trip to Crestwood, Inquisitor?” The Spymaster suggested, a barely concealed smile on her face as she chanced a sly look at Cullen.

Sylvie picked up her tea from the table and took a long mouthful, cradling the warm mug in her hands as she launched into the story of everything that happened, making sure to rack her brain for anything she may have missed out in the report she sent back. Leliana was typically stoic as she listened, the only hint of a reaction being the occasional delicate furrow of her brow. Josephine on the other hand was much more animated, several of the details eliciting small gasps of surprise. When it came to telling them that Hawke and Stroud were in Skyhold, Sylvie pointedly didn't mention what had transpired in Cullen's office, simply telling them that it had been agreed that the two of them would be leaving for the Western Approach that night.

“It may be wise for you to remain in Skyhold while we await word from them.” Cullen said once she was finished. His brow was drawn into a frown as he gazed down at the map. “There is nothing that requires immediate attention and with all the new recruits it could be good for moral for your presence to be seen.”

“There are also a number of visiting dignitaries due to arrive within the next few days, all of whom will be eager to meet the Inquisitor.” Josephine chimed in, readily jumping on Cullen's idea.

Sylvie certainly wasn't going to argue- it would be good to stay in Skyhold and it would give her a chance to hone her skills, hopefully sending her out into the field even stronger than she was ...and capable of matching Hawke should the Champion decide to lash out again. The thought of training reminded her of a discussion she had had with the advisors before leaving for Crestwood.

“The specialist trainers we spoke about- have they arrived in Skyhold yet?” She asked, draining the last of her tea.

“They are due to arrive within the next three days.” Leliana answered, shuffling around a few pieces of parchment before picking one up. “As discussed there is a Rift Mage, a Necromancer and a Knight-Enchanter, all of whom are known to be some of the best in their chosen fields.”

“I'll speak with them all when they arrive. Is there anything else?” Sylvie's back was beginning to ache quite fiercely and she was eager to leave to fight somewhere just to sit down for a while.

“There is one last thing- my agents have located Mayor Dedrick and are on their way back to Skyhold.”

Sylvie resisted the urge to sigh heavily at Leliana's statement. She may have been the one to order the Mayor brought to Skyhold but that didn't mean she had _any_ idea of what to do with him when he arrived. The man had been in an impossible situation, she knew that, but still ...he murdered countless people and deserved to be held accountable for that.

“Have him secured in the dungeons when he gets here but ...make sure he's at least comfortable. I'll figure out what do to with him when the time comes.”

“There are also a number of letters from across Thedas that require your attention.” Josephine said and this time Sylvie did sigh. “Most of them are simply pledges of aid, or even just allegiance, but several of them include requests for various things. As Inquisitor it will be your decision how to respond.”

“You want me to respond to the letters?” Sylvie asked, raising an eyebrow as she took the excessively large pile of parchment from Josephine's outstretched hand.

“No!” Josephine replied a bit too quickly and Sylvie heard Cullen snort but he quickly covered it up with a cough. “What I mean, Inquisitor, is that you have much more pressing matters to worry about than writing letters. If you could simply read them and note on each of them what _your_ response would be then I will draft the _official_ replies myself.”

“By official, she means polite.” Cullen said, the scarred side of his mouth pulling into a teasing smirk. Sylvie returned his expression with a smile, knowing full well that he was right.

“I'll go over these this morning...” She shuffled through the pile and frowned. “And possibly this afternoon too. If that's us then I'll let everyone get on with their day.”

Sylvie stuffed the letters under her arm, planning to wait for Cullen in the hall when she heard Leliana ask for a moment of his time. She left the war room with Josephine instead, chatting idly in the Ambassador's office before she said her goodbyes. It was a bright morning, even the grounds of Skyhold feeling pleasant in the summer sun despite being so high in the mountains, and so Sylvie decided to take the letters into the garden. If part of the reason for her staying in Skyhold was to be seen then it wouldn't do to spend her first day back hiding away behind the desk in her quarters.

By the time she reached the gardens, Sylvie was glad for the chance to sit down and planted herself at a low stone table, sitting the letters on it as she settled herself into a chair. A breeze wafted lazily through the gardens, carrying with it the delicate scents of the nearby flowers and causing the edges of the letters to flutter as they threatened to escape. In a practical solution to outdoor paperwork, Sylvie picked a small rock up from the ground and dropped it onto the pile. Satisfied that Inquisition business wasn't about to be carried off in an up-draft she began to read.

The letters were, quite frankly, boring as shit. Not to mention the fact that the majority of the ones that held requests were completely inane. Sylvie wondered if these nobles even _knew_ the purpose of the Inquisition. They were here to restore order not mediate petty family squabbles ...or deal with land disputes ...or help secure a marriage alliance for an Orlesian family...or find out who had ripped off Varric's book- Hard in Hightown. Well, actually, that particular request Sylvie _would_ make sure got investigated.

Eventually, Sylvie's mind and eyes began to wander. She spent more time people watching than reading the letters and reckoned that watching the bloody grass grow would probably be more interesting than reading these things. For the _third_ time she began wondering if she should just let the wind carry the letters away and tell Josephine it was the will of the Maker. That was when Sylvie realised that it was time to move. Given her horrific attention span the garden was clearly a mistake. She needed somewhere with no people to watch ...no where that she could ponder the fact that one bush looked like Blackwall's face...somewhere that said “work gets done here” ...a smile crept across Sylvie's face and she quickly gathered up the letters. She had an idea of _just_ the place.

\- - -

“Have you finished with those letters already?” Cullen barely glanced up from his desk as Sylvie wandered into his office, letting the door swing shut behind her.

“Not exactly...” She admitted, crossing the room and shifting some books off of the spare chair in the corner before she dragged it over to Cullen's desk. She saw a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“But you got bored.” He stated without looking up, dipping his quill in the inkwell and writing something onto a piece of parchment. Sylvie sighed as she positioned the chair on the opposite side of the desk to Cullen and sat down.

“The garden was too distracting. Did you know there's a bush that looks like Blackwall?” She sat down her letters in front of her. With a soft smile, Sylvie noticed the small statue of Andraste that she had given Cullen was still sitting on his desk.

“I did not know that.” Cullen replied absently before sitting down his quill and leaning his elbows on the desk. The scarred side of his lips pulled up into a smirk that was _infintely_ more distracting than the Blackwall-bush. “The garden distracted _you_ so you decided to come here to distract me?”

“I came here to work, Commander.” Sylvie replied curtly, trying not to smile. “You won't even know I'm here.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Cullen snorted. He slid the inkwell into the middle of the desk and passed her a spare quill. “You'll need this to make your notes, Inquisitor.”

Sylvie accepted the quill with a thanks and set about her task, refraining from idle chit-chat simply to prove a point. It became clear to her fairly quickly that she made the perfect decision in coming to Cullen's office. He exuded an air of focus that Sylvie didn't think she would ever be able to attain and the rhythmic scratching of his quill kept the job of noting the letters at the forefront of her mind.

She wasn't sure how long they had been sitting at the desk working when a problem began to surface for her. Sylvie had her elbow leaning on the desk, cheek resting in her palm as she read over one of the letters. Between the warmth of Cullen's office, the comfortable silence and the residual exhaustion from her trip to Crestwood Sylvie could feel her eyelids growing heavy, to the point that they began to drift shut.

“Sylvie...”

She jerked upwards, elbow sliding off the desk and she _just_ managed to catch her face from smacking off the wood. Sylvie blinked a couple of times, rubbing at dry eyes as she looked blearily across the desk to see Cullen looking at her with an amused expression.

“You fell asleep.” He said gently, leaning back in his chair. “I only realised when I heard you snore.”

“I don't snore.” Sylvie grumbled indignantly, stretching her back with a satisfying pop.

“I'm afraid you do.” Cullen chuckled, gaze drifting down to her lips. “And you also ...drool ...just a little.”

Sylvie rubbed at her chin and, sure enough, there was a small trail of moisture from the corner of her mouth. She laughed as she pushed the chair back and stood up, working the stiffness from her legs.

“The drooling I know about. I am the picture of an elegant sleeper.” Sylvie rolled her shoulders, dipping her torso back and forward as she stretched out her muscles. When she looked up, Cullen sharply glanced away and rubbed at his forehead.

“Well ...perhaps not elegant but ...endearing...” He said, absently shuffling around some parchment. Sylvie grinned a little, walking around to his side of the desk and leaning against it.

“Is that your way of saying I looked _cute_ sleeping at your desk?” She asked teasingly.

“I suppose it is.” Cullen replied, glancing up at her with a smile so warm that for a brief moment she wanted to melt into a puddle. “So much for you not being here to distract me.”

“It wasn't intentional, I promise.” Sylvie shuffled along the desk until she was standing in front of him. “But since I _have_ you distracted now...”

She leaned down, pressing her lips to Cullen's before he could reply. He responded to her kiss almost instantly, reaching up a hand to cup around her cheek. He pulled back after a moment, resting his forehead against hers.

“I do actually have a lot of work to do...” His voice was pitched low, giving absolutely no indication that he truly wanted her to move. With a sigh, Sylvie straightened and moved away. She turned to face the desk and stood beside Cullen instead. She leaned over to look at his reports and over-exaggeratedly tapped her chin.

“These don't look _that_ important.” She commented, glancing at him over her shoulder. Cullen raised an eyebrow at her.

“The numbers of recruits we have recently received with martial ability isn't important?” He asked, bringing up a hand to rest casually on the small of her back. The gentle touch sent a brief shiver up her spine.

“When you put it like that...” Sylvie sighed dramatically, turning back around to face him. His hand followed the turn of her body, coming to rest on her hip. “I'm going to hunt down someone to spar with this afternoon anyway so you'll be left in peace shortly.”

“You've never chosen to spar with anyone before.” Cullen commented, his brows pulling together in a frown. “Is this about what happened last night?”

“Of course it's about what happened last night.” Sylvie replied sharply, hopping up on the desk and causing Cullen's hand to drop away. He looked exasperatedly at her for a moment but didn't say anything. Probably because she had been lucky enough not to knock anything over. “Hawke took me out so ... _easily_. I know I've gotten better at using my magic to fight but ...I _need_ to be better, Cullen ...I _need_ to be the best.”

“Hawke caught _all_ of us by surprise when she ...attacked you.” Cullen said gently as he pushed his chair back from his desk and got to his feet. “You're right, however. We have a long road ahead of us and every advantage you have in the field brings our success that much closer.”

“Speaking of advantages, I didn't want to say anything in the war room but I think I already know what specialist I want to train with.” Sylvie told him, reaching out her hand for him. She had found it was increasingly difficult to be in close proximity to Cullen and not have some kind of physical contact.

“They haven't even arrived yet. Have you been thinking about it since the idea was first brought to you?” He took her hand in his, not resisting when Sylvie tugged him towards her.

“I have.” She confirmed with a nod as he leaned lightly against the outside of her thigh, warmth radiating from the small point of contact. “I _will_ speak to them all when they arrive and I _might_ change my mind but ...I want to be a Knight-Enchanter.”

“A Knight-Enchanter...” Cullen repeated. He had been idly brushing his thumb back and forth along her knuckles but stopped at her pronouncement. He frowned in thought and when he spoke again his tone was measured, almost delicate as if he were looking for a way to deliver bad news. “I admit I do not know a great deal about that particular specialisation but from what little I _do_ know it is less a branch of magic and more a ...discipline ...requiring immense focus and control...”

“Things I haven't really demonstrated.” Sylvie replied with a snort. Cullen looked like he was about to respond but Sylvie waved her free hand dismissively. “It's fine, Cullen. I've lived with this personality for twenty-four years- I _know_ what I'm like- but becoming a Knight-Enchanter ... _that_ is the advantage I need. _That_ is what is going to put me a cut above our enemies ...pun intended, of course.”

“You sound determined.” Cullen remarked, resuming stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “While I don't relish the thought of you putting yourself further into the fray while out in the field, I think your decision is a good one for the Inquisition ...and for yourself.”

Sylvie thought she might be positively beaming under the light of Cullen's approving smile. She had been concerned that he would think it was a terrible idea ...or that, given the disciplined nature required of a Knight-Enchanter, he would think that she couldn't do it. She leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Cullen tilted his head and caught her lips with his, tightening his grip almost reflexively on her hand before he unlaced their fingers. His hand slid up her arm, cupping around the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. Sylvie shifted a little, moving to the side until her thighs were draped loosely around Cullen's hips. For a passing second, Cullen's fingers gripped at her hair before he tore himself away from the kiss with a sharp inhale.

“Maybe I _am_ a distraction.” Sylvie mumbled, her breathing already feeling like it was growing more rapid.

“You ...very much are...” Cullen replied, fingertips ghosting down the back of her neck. He seemed to catch himself from saying something else, clearing his throat and taking a half-step backwards instead. Sylvie almost toppled to the floor when her body instinctively tried to follow his.

“So...” Sylvie began, sliding off the desk and standing up, “you know, of course, that Knight-Enchanters fight when a spectral blade?”

“I do.” Cullen nodded, folding his arms across his chest. Sylvie could tell from the expectant look on his face that he already knew where this conversation was going.

"Well obviously I don't really have any experience fighting with a sword...”

“I'm sure the Knight-Enchanter that is coming to Skyhold will teach you.” He assured her.

“I'm sure you're right.” Sylvie agreed, taking a step towards Cullen. “However I was thinking- Corypheus has an army of Red Templars and even though they're corrupted they will still _fight_ like Templars ... _react_ like Templars...”

“That much was clear at Haven.” Cullen replied, a dark look briefly passing over his features. It was replaced by the slightest hint of a smile. “If you are going to fight in close combat with them then you will need to know exactly how Templars fight.”

“You know where I'm going with this then?” Sylvie closed the scant distance between them, tilting her head. “How about it, Commander?”

“If I recall the _last_ time I tried to help train you ...you quickly grew stubborn and difficult.” He raised an eyebrow at her and Sylvie rolled her eyes.

“Only after taking multiple blunted arrows to the face.” She replied pointedly before smirking. “I _mostly_ remember what happened after you tried to teach me hand to hand combat...” While the comment was said in a flirty tone, it was also completely true. Sylvie's mind had drifted to the memory of Cullen falling on top of her ...the feel of him ...the weight of him more often than could be considered decent.

“I ...remember that too...” Cullen admitted and his eyes flicked momentarily to her lips before he met her gaze. “Although you are right ...again.”

“Twice in one day, I'm going for a record here.” Sylvie interrupted, causing Cullen to snort.

“I _am_ one of the best equipped here in Skyhold to teach you how to fight one-on-one with Templars.” He said and Sylvie had to bite her tongue to stop her passing comment about what else Cullen might be best equipped to do with her.

“So you'll do it?” She asked instead, grinning at him. Her expression was apparently infectious because within a moment Cullen was smiling back at her as he nodded. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Commander.”

“You might not be thanking me afterwards- I've been known to push those training under me hard.” He replied with a smirk. Cullen must have seen the undoubtedly cheeky look that flashed across her face at his choice of words because he groaned and rubbed at his forehead. “I mean ...I can be ...what I _wanted_ to say ...oh Maker's breath, _please_ stop looking at me like that.”

Sylvie felt a laugh bubbling forth but choked it back down since Cullen seemed flustered enough without her giggling. She made a determined effort to make her expression more neutral.

“Tomorrow morning?” She asked and Cullen nodded his assent. “I'll let you get back to your reports for now.” She kissed him one more time before walking around the desk and heading for the door.

“Sylvie?” Cullen called and she turned around to see him nod towards his desk. Sylvie frowned in confusion until her eyes fell to the pile of letters she had brought with her. She grinned sheepishly as she went to retrieve them.

“I suppose I'm going to need these at some point.” She picked them up, clutching them to her chest. “I'm going to go find Dorian for some practice time and then I'll come back later ...assuming I won't be too much of a distraction?” She quirked an eyebrow at him as she backed towards the door and he smiled that infuriatingly heart-melting smile.

“I look forward to your distractions ...always.” Cullen said softly as he sat back down behind his desk.

Sylvie opened her mouth to reply but under that warm brown gaze she found words suddenly much more challenging. She simply smiled and hurried out of Cullen's office before she embarrassingly swooned.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that this was an unashamed filler chapter. I promise that things are about to get very interesting! I want to say a quick thanks again for some wonderful feedback after last chapter. Seriously, I smiled so much. Thanks as well to everyone continuing to read/sub/kudo/comment!


	29. The Simplest Explanation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile! Apologies as always for how long this took. It turns out that if you really dislike something you've written you're as well getting rid of it and trying again!

Cullen breathed in the crisp dawn air as he strode across the courtyard, the heavy smell of Chantry incense still clinging to his cloak after his usual daily prayers. The inhabitants of Skyhold were just beginning _their_ morning routines as he was finishing his, long strides already taking him back to his office. He heard hurried footsteps behind him and a quick shout of “Commander!” caused him to pause and turn.

“From The Inquisitor.” The runner said as explanation as he held out a small roll of parchment. Cullen took it with thanks and the runner was off again, delivering the other messages that Cullen could see in a small satchel on his belt. With a slight frown he unfurled the note- it wasn't like Sylvie to send someone with a message, much preferring to come bounding into his office to deliver it herself.

_Cullen,_

_Sorry, I know I said I would stop by after sparring with Dorian but it took more out of me than I thought. I also owe you another apology- our sword training this morning will need to wait for another day. I hope you understand._

_Sylvie_

Cullen felt his frown deepen as he rolled the note back up. He would admit that he had been ...disappointed when Sylvie hadn't come to his office the previous evening but he was also practical enough to know just how taxing her sparring session with Dorian would have been. As for postponing their training ...well, Cullen was sure that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for that as well. Unless ...Cullen tucked the note into the pocket of his cloak, rubbing at his forehead in an attempt to chase away those soft whispers from his past, the vicious murmur of his withdrawal trying to tell him that _of course_ something was wrong ...how _dare_ he think that he had found some peace at last. It seemed a rather cruel jape for his mind to descend into those negative thoughts on what _had_ been a pleasant morning after a surprisingly nightmare-free night. A number of voices coming from the direction of the main gate snapped Cullen back to himself and he determinedly straightened his posture before making his way down towards the noise.

He spotted Josephine as he walked down the stairs, her ledger clutched in her hands. Cullen followed her line of sight to the travel stained scouts that were coming through the gate, a ragged and haunted looking man shuffling between them in his heavy manacles.

“The _former_ Mayor of Crestwood.” Josephine said solemnly in explanation when Cullen came to stand beside her. The scouts dragged the man in front of them somewhat roughly and the Ambassador cleared her throat. “Gregory Dedrick, you have been brought to Skyhold to answer for your crimes committed during the Fifth Blight. The Inquisitor has instructed for you to be held in our cells to await her judgement.”

Cullen watched as the man simply hung his head, staggering slightly as the scouts hauled him away towards the cells inside Skyhold's walls. When he had heard of what that man had done to his own people, Cullen had been sickened but now he almost felt a pang of sympathy for the former Mayor. Dedrick had spent the last ten years living with, and no doubt reliving, what he had done during what had been one of the most difficult periods in recent history ...something Cullen could understand all too well.

“I should inform The Inquisitor.” Josephine said with sigh, scratching something on her ledger with her quill. “I believe she will want to deal with Mayor Dedrick as soon as possible ...perhaps even today.”

\- - -

As Josephine had predicted, Sylvie did indeed call for Mayor Dedricks judgement that afternoon. Cullen had been notified by one of his soldiers and tried not to feel _too_ anxious over the fact that Sylvie hadn't come by herself at all that day. He knew that she struggled to come to decisions alone and part of him had simply assumed that she would ask him for advice on what to do. That, coupled with her letter that morning, left him with an unpleasant knot in his stomach. The increasing headache and slight tremors in his hands were _also_ not helping his mood in the slightest.

Cullen slipped into the main hall through the door from the rotunda, the smell of the paint Solas was using for his fresco causing a wave of nausea to wash over him as he passed through. Many people had gathered to watch this judgement and Cullen was sure that, like him, a large number of the people in that hall had lost loved ones during the Blight. It was _personal_ for them ...and perhaps, if he were honest, it was personal for him too. Sylvie was already seated upon her chair, not her throne as she had been very quick to point out when Josephine had first shown it to her. Cullen knew the whole notion of sitting _above_ everyone else and passing judgement was extremely uncomfortable for her but no one would have known that by looking at her. She was sitting straight, her posture strong and commanding but Cullen noticed that, every so often, she looked as if she were about to bite the inside of her cheek but stopped herself. A hush descended over the crowd as Mayor Dedrick was brought into the hall, the only sounds were the clink-clink of his manacles and the occasional whisper.

“Mayor Gregory Dedrick of Crestwood is present for betraying his own constituents.” Josephine's voice rang out across the hall. “He confesses that ten years ago, he flooded Old Crestwood to kill refugees and villagers touched by the Blight. The Mayor claims it was to spare the rest of Crestwood, but we only have his word.”

The whispers in the hall grew more pronounced, as if a dozen insects had suddenly been released from the rafters and Cullen found himself resisting the urge to glare at the offenders. He watched as Sylvie held up a hand for quiet and the noise dimmed.

“There's no cure for the Blight!” The Mayor called out, his tone desperate. “But I couldn't convince anyone to leave a sick child or husband behind.”

“So you herded the infected into one place and flooded Old Crestwood? Were no innocents caught in the waters?” Josephine questioned. Most eyes in the hall were on the Mayor but Cullen was watching Sylvie carefully. Her gaze was flitting between Josephine and Dedrick as she simply watched the exchange unfold. It was odd for Cullen to see her like that, so quiet and poised when he had become used to her being so full of energy and constant chatter.

“Nearly everyone in the village had the Blight, I swear it! Have mercy. I couldn't tell the survivors I'd drowned their own families to save them ...I ...I couldn't!” The Mayor was staring pleadingly between Josephine and Sylvie as if begging them to understand. Once again, Cullen almost felt a small measure of sympathy for the man. Josephine looked ready to retort but it was Sylvie who spoke ...or, perhaps more accurately, it was the _Inquisitor_ who spoke.

“Enough.” She hadn't shouted, her tone kept level, but the effect was the same and complete silence descend on the hall. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen noticed Madam De Fer on the other side of the hall where she was looking approvingly up at the Inquisitor. He turned his focus back to the top of the hall when he heard the Inquisitor speak again.

“What Ambassador Montiliyet says is true.” She began, leaning forward slightly in her chair. “All we have is _your_ word that you were faced with this ...impossible decision.” Visibly, she sighed as she leaned back again, her hands coming to rest on the arms of the chair. “A great deal of people here in this hall had their lives affected in some way or another by the Blight but none of them were in your position. When the Fifth Blight hit Fereldan ...I was fourteen, safe behind the walls of a Circle Tower on the other side of the Waking Sea. All the things that happened were simply stories to us, awful tales that seemed so completely detached from the lives we had. With that in mind it is my decision as Inquisitor that you will be sent to Denerim. Your crimes were committed on Fereldan soil against _Fereldan_ people so you will answer for them to King Alistair Theirin. It will be the mercy of the man who fought the Fifth Blight that you will ask for.”

With her pronouncement made, the Inquisitor rose from her chair and strode from the hall, disappearing through the door to her chambers. Cullen watched Mayor Dedrick removed from the hall and the crowd that had gathered for the judgement quickly dispersed.

“A wise judgement.” A voice from his side said softly. Cullen turned to meet Leliana's gaze, utterly unaware that the Spymaster had been beside him. “Although I doubt Alistair will thank her. He never enjoyed what he called 'the Kingly stuff' and time hasn't changed that.” For a brief moment there was an amused expression on her face but as quickly as Cullen saw it, it was gone.

“It was a good decision.” Cullen agreed, arms folding across his chest. Leliana's eyes drifted past him, settling on the spot behind him where the Inquisitor's chair now sat empty.

“Strange ...to think of the Inquisitor as no more than a girl when I was travelling with Alistair and Elissa.” Her blue eyes found their way back to meet Cullen's stare and he felt like he were being thoroughly scrutinised. “Wouldn't you agree, Commander?”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably, a reaction that Leliana would be sure to notice. As it happened he _did_ agree with her. While there wasn't a large difference in their ages, it seemed that in his and Sylvie's case those six years had allowed for him to live what felt like an entire other life.

“I suppose it is a little ...strange to think about.” Cullen eventually admitted before clearing his throat. “If you'll excuse me, we received a large amount of armour and weapons this morning that I have yet to look over.”

“Actually, Commander, I required a moment of your time ...and Josephine's as well if she can spare a few minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, Leliana stepped around him and made her way across the hall towards Josephine's office. Sighing, Cullen strode after her.

“Is this about what we discussed yesterday in the war room?” Cullen asked her as they stepped into the office. The sun was blazing through the glass pane of windows and flames were crackling in the fireplace making the room feel stifling in Cullen's opinion. Josephine had once told him that the heat reminded her of home and so he had never complained about it again.

“It is indeed about yesterday.” Leliana replied grimly, closing the door behind them. “Do you have some time, Josie?”

“Of course...” Josephine looked up from her desk, brow furrowing when she noticed the expression on Leliana's face. “Is something wrong?”

“Perhaps.” Leliana said, somewhat evasively, as she came to stand at the side of Josephine's desk. “Have you heard anything recently regarding the Trevelyan family?”

Cullen took up position in front of the desk, his hands instinctively coming to rest on the pommel of his sword. It was a conversation that he had not been looking forward to ever since Leliana had brought him what scant information she had the morning before. He had done his best to put it from his mind, _particularly_ when he had been around Sylvie in his office a few hours after hearing it.

“The Trevelyan family?” Josephine repeated with a frown, hazel eyes darting between Leliana and Cullen. “No, they haven't contacted the Inquisition since Bann Fredrick sent his letter declaring that they would not be seen openly supporting our 'heretical movement'.”

Cullen remembered _that_ letter well. Sylvie's older brother had gone so far as to say that perhaps they were _lying_ about the fact that their sister had survived the Conclave in a move to garner support from a noble family renowned for being devout to the Chantry. Cullen knew that Sylvie had seen the letter a few weeks after the formation of the Inquisition in Haven but they hadn't exactly been on speaking terms back then so he had no idea how she had reacted ...angrily, probably.

“I have had spies in and around the Trevelyan estate in Ostwick for over a month now. A week ago I received word that Sylvie's other brother, Philip, has not been seen on the estate for nearly a fortnight and questions about his disappearance have been met with silence.” Leliana told them, folding her arms. It was the same information that she had given Cullen the day before and he had told the Spymaster that it wasn't exactly cause for immediate panic that someone was travelling in secret. Josephine, however, clearly did not echo Cullen's sentiment as she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“If he had been sent away on some errand by his brother, the Bann, then there would be no need for secrecy...” Josephine sat down heavily in her chair and Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When people were constantly embroiled in plots they began to see them everywhere instead of what was probably a simple explanation.

“You told me all this yesterday.” Cullen said impatiently, the heat in the room doing absolutely _nothing_ to help his headache or his mood. “I told you that a person travelling is not a strange occurrence and that the most obvious reason for all this ... _secrecy_ is that he is coming to Skyhold against his brothers wishes and the Bann doesn't want anyone to know.” Cullen frustratedly rubbed at the back of his neck before gesturing in Leliana's direction. “The simplest explanation is usually the right one. You even agreed with me!”

“I did,” Leliana replied with a calm nod of her head, “However I received. further news this morning. One of my spies was in Kirkwall and I sent word for her to watch the docks. She reports, with confidence, that she saw someone fitting the description of Philip Trevelyan boarding a ship bound for Jader with a group of Templars.”

“ _Templars_?” Josephine spoke up before Cullen could but he felt his brows pulling together in a frown. “They were openly wearing their armour?”

“No, but my spy recognised a few of them that she had contact with many years ago while living in the city and the rest of them...” Leliana gave Cullen a brief half smile. “It is not so difficult to tell a Templar from a soldier when you know what to look for.”

“So Sylvie's brother is on a ship, heading in our direction with some Templars who don't want to be recognised.” Cullen summarised with barely concealed exasperation. “Even more evidence that they are coming here unless there is _more_ information that you are holding back for ...dramatic effect.”

“The Templars that she did recognise,” Leliana began, her voice steely after Cullen's comment, “are ones that were friendly with Samson before and _after_ Knight-Commander Meredith had him thrown out of the order.”

The statement hung in the air like a well-aimed fireball ready to explode. Cullen clenched his fists by his sides as he maintained Leliana's level stare but all he could hear was the constant thump of his heart as it felt like the wind had been knocked right out of him.

“Are you suggesting that Sylvie's own brother is...” Cullen couldn't even bring himself to finish the sentence and instead chose to turn away from the two women, gaze focussing on the flames in the fireplace.

“It seems entirely possible.” Leliana said smoothly. “However I do not think we should tell the Inquisitor until we know for certain.”

“Are you serious?” Cullen whirled back around angrily to look at Leliana. “ _You_ think her brother his planning to join up with Corypheus but you don't think she should know?”

“Leliana is right.” Josephine interjected, standing up from her desk. “This should stay between us for now- if word got out that the Inquisitor's brother has joined with our enemy then it could severely damage the Inquisitions reputation.” Cullen looked incredulously at Josephine but Leliana interrupted him as he opened his mouth to retort.

“Not to mention the fact that the Inquisitor does not need this on her mind when she will soon be travelling to the Western Approach to face Maker only knows what kind of corruption in the Grey Warden ranks.”

Cullen's eyes flicked over both of them in turn, remembering what had happened the last time he had kept something from Sylvie for what he thought was her own good. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of Josephine's desk.

“I do not want to lie to her.” He stated sharply.

“It is not a lie merely ...an omission of information until the time is right.” Leliana replied and Cullen stopped pacing in time to see her fold her arms tightly across her chest. “I think your feelings for _Sylvie_ are clouding what is best for the _Inquisitor_.”

“My _feelings_ are...” He snapped before taking a quick breath. “I can see that I am outnumbered in this ...decision.” Cullen said briskly, biting back at least three separate replies to Leliana's insinuation. Josephine at least had the courtesy to glance away, her expression somewhat sorrowful. Without another word, Cullen turned on his heel and marched out of the office, storming his way through the hall until he passed through the doors and into to cool late-afternoon air.

He took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. What Leliana was suggesting was terrible enough on it's own but the decision not to tell Sylvie ...it could only end badly and most likely with fire and a lot of swearing. Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck as he descended the stairs away from the main hall. Were they right, though? News like this could only be a distraction for her and perhaps he truly _did_ want to tell Sylvie because of his feelings for her. The decision he made to put off telling her about his lyrium withdrawal was for, what he thought, _her_ benefit. Whereas the decision to withhold the information about her brother was made for the benefit the _Inquisition._

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Cullen was wondering how in Andraste's name he was supposed to look at Sylvie with this knowledge in his mind. He didn't have to wait for long- when he looked across towards the tavern he spotted Sylvie by the practice dummies, seemingly in deep conversation with Cassandra. Cullen picked up his stride, hoping to make it to his office unnoticed but Cassandra spotted him, nodding in his direction and causing Sylvie to look over. When she smiled at him, Cullen hesitated with the almost sheer need to go to her ...to be near her but instead he walked on, not quite missing the way her smile quickly turned into a frown.

Cullen made it into his office but the door was caught by a firm hand and pushed back open before it could fully close. He stepped around his desk, sitting heavily down in his chair as the door slammed with more force than was necessary.

“Are you avoiding me?” Sylvie asked, her hands on her hips as she waited for an answer.

“Are you avoiding _me?”_ Cullen snapped back, instantly regretting his childish response as he watched Sylvie's arms fall to her side, the annoyance melting from her face. “Forgive me, it has ...not been a good day...”

“Considering I had to sit in judgement of a man who essentially committed mass murder, I'm inclined to agree.” Sylvie said, her tone sharp, as she came around to his side of the desk and leaned back against it. “I _was_ coming to explain the note I sent this morning.”

“I assumed you simply ...didn't want to see me.” Cullen replied, voice flat. He rubbed at his eyes, bright spots bursting beneath his eyelids.

“Have you gone mad?” Sylvie's tone was so incredulous that Cullen couldn't stop himself from snorting derisively.

“It's entirely possible.” He felt insistent fingers wrap around his wrists to pull his hands away from his eyes. He looked up to find Sylvie's face close to his, green eyes looking at him with concern.

“Cullen ...is every all right?” She asked, tilting her head. Cullen swallowed heavily and glanced away, mind still ringing with Leliana's earlier words. “Is it the withdrawal?”

“It ...is the withdrawal.” Cullen replied after a few moments silence. Sylvie slid her fingers through his hair, massaging firmly at the base of his skull and he felt his eyes closing involuntarily. “You said you were coming to explain your note...”

“I was.” She agreed. Before she said any more, Cullen felt a weight across his thighs and opened his eyes to find that he suddenly had a lap full of Sylvie. “I am going to sit right here while I tell you all about it.”

“I don't believe I could stop you even if I tried.” Cullen said, chuckling in spite of his dark mood. He wrapped his arms around Sylvie's waist lest she fall from his lap onto the floor and he felt her hands clasp at the back of his neck. She was tall enough that her feet were still on ground and she was, quite frankly, squashing Cullen's legs into the edge of his chair but her closeness was far too comforting for him to complain.

“You remember that I was sparring with Dorian last night?” Sylvie began and Cullen nodded, letting his forehead rest on her temple as she spoke. “Well let's just say that I now almost feel _sorry_ for everyone I've ever seen him fight. I realised pretty quickly that he was ...going easy on me...” She trailed off for a second and Cullen could _hear_ her scowling.

“That doesn't sound like Dorian.” Cullen offered, unable to resist the urge to press a kiss against Sylvie's hair. “I would have thought that he would have enjoyed the chance to show off.”

“When he finally stopped holding back …Cullen, he was fucking brilliant.” Sylvie voice was wistful, almost reverent. “If that were a real fight I'd have died at least three times. _Eventually_ I managed to get a win but I was exhausted ...and also questioning my abilities _again_.”

“I had thought that perhaps you had been too tired to come by but I will admit I was ...a little disappointed not to see you.” Cullen replied softly into her hair, startled when Sylvie pulled back a little to look him in the eye.

“I wanted to see you too, and again this morning for our training, and I normally would have come by last night just to see you before going to my bed but...” She trailed off, closing her eyes briefly as she took the deep breath that Cullen had learned tended to suggest a ramble was coming. “I exerted myself so much more than I should have and I used far too much mana and well ...I collapsed ...just a little bit!” The last part was exclaimed rather loudly when she saw that Cullen's eyes had gone wide.

“People don't collapse 'a little bit', Sylvie.” He replied, running his fingers across her cheek.

“I didn't fall completely over, just onto my knees.” Sylvie explained, her expression sheepish. “Anyway, my legs were shaking and my stomach was churning and well ...I had to use one of Dorian's lyrium potions just to get back to my room. Then this morning I ran into Cassandra in the main hall and she said she could _sense_ the lyrium still in me. That's why you saw me with her this afternoon- I was getting her to check that it would be ...okay for me to be around you.”

Cullen found himself at a loss for words as he cupped his hand around Sylvie's cheek. Of course it has crossed his mind that, as a mage in battle, Sylvie would have to use lyrium potions from time to time but it was the heartfelt consideration she had given to his situation that both warmed and startled him. It had been many years since it felt like someone had given so much thought to his well-being and knowing Sylvie had been doing that while _he_ had been hearing all that information in Josephine's office ...it almost sickened him.

He steeled himself, ready to open his mouth and tell her everything he knew but the words stuck in his throat. If he had been looking at the face of that calm, poised Inquisitor from earlier then perhaps the words would have come out but it was _Sylvie_ looking at him, those constantly stray strands of brown hair falling across her cheeks. Cullen knew for sure in that moment that Leliana had been right and it had been his feelings for Sylvie that had caused his reaction earlier, not his opinion on the _Inquisitor._

Sylvie titled her head at Cullen's continued silence and in the absence of a decision on _what_ to say, he slid his hand from her cheek to cup the back of her head and pulled her lips against his. Cullen heard Sylvie's breath catch in her throat in surprise but the gasp turned quickly into the softest of moans as he slipped his tongue against hers. For a passing moment, Cullen almost imagined that he _could_ still taste the lyrium on her tongue but knew that couldn't truly be the case after so many hours had passed.

Several moments went by, Cullen's head empty of all thoughts other than the feel of Sylvie's mouth on his ...the weight of her on top of him and all those wondrous little sounds she made. It wasn't enough ...he wanted to hear what other sounds he could get her to make, he wanted to know what her skin tasted like and how it felt beneath his finger tips. The thought was upon him so suddenly that there didn't seem to be anything Cullen could do to stop himself from dipping his hand under the hem of her tunic and slipping it around to the bare skin of her back. Sylvie's lips pulled away with a sharp intake of breath and she tried to meet Cullen's gaze but when he ran his fingertips up her spine her eyes fluttered closed. He maybe could have composed himself at that point but then he watched, practically entranced, as Sylvie drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Her head dropped back ever so slightly and the curve of her neck, smooth and exposed, was right _there_. Tilting his head, Cullen leaned in and pressed one kiss ...followed by another ...and another ...until he found himself trailing a path upwards Sylvie's ear. He felt her back shudder beneath his fingers, her skin every bit as warm and soft as he had expected it to be.

Sylvie turned her face to meet his, her cheeks flushed and breathing ragged. She brushed her nose against his, eyelids heavy as her lips parted to say something. Whatever she was going say, Cullen would never know as someone chose that precise moment to knock loudly on his door.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Sylvie practically growled as she glared over the top of Cullen's head at the door.

“At least they knocked.” Cullen offered, feeling the corner of his mouth pull into a half-smile. Sylvie looked down at him and promptly stifled a laugh behind her hand as she swiftly got off of his lap. She moved around the desk and dropped into the chair opposite him. Cullen felt it best for everyone involved if he stayed seated for a few minutes longer.

“Come in!” Sylvie called out, attempting to put on what Cullen assumed was a completely innocent expression. He felt that the effect was rather lost when you took into account her pink cheeks and tousled hair.

“Apologies for interrupting, Commander.” The soldier said as he stuck his head around the door. “Knight-Captain Rylen is looking for you, says it's urgent.” As quickly as the door opened, it slammed shut again. Cullen looked across the desk when he heard Sylvie laughing.

“He knew I was in here- I walked passed him outside. I'm guessing he drew the short straw to be the one to knock on the door.”

Cullen watched her shake her hair out of it's dishevelled bun and tie it back up, the amusement never leaving her face. As swiftly as his guilt had fled when he had Sylvie in his arms, it returned to him just as rapidly. Sylvie must have noticed the change in his expression because she stood from her chair and smoothed down her clothes.

“Oh I see the serious Commander face is back.” She remarked, leaning across the desk to kiss his cheek. “Well, off you go. It's probably just as well- Josephine has planned for me to have dinner with some noble or other and I wouldn't have wanted to think of an excuse for my lateness.”

“I don't think _any_ excuse would satisfy Josephine if you had been late.” Cullen replied, finally standing up from his chair.

“I could have just blamed you.” Sylvie said with a shrug as she crossed the room and opened the door. “Besides, the simplest explanation is usually the best one.”

With her parting comment eerily echoing Cullen's own words earlier in Josephine's office, Sylvie gave him one final smile before leaving the room and closing the door behind herself. Cullen sighed and he rubbed at his forehead, praying to the Maker that they were both right.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to everyone who is sticking with this fic and to all the new subs/kudos that continue to hop on board the Sylvie train. All the love is one of the reasons I fought so hard to make this chapter work.


	30. A Present

Sylvie's lungs were burning, beads of sweat trickling down her temples as she dropped down to one knee. Her barrier was barely holding against the assault of lightening raining down on her and even though she still had her fingers grasped around her staff she may as well have been holding a fucking broom for all the good it was going to do her.

“Give up!” A voice shouted across the clearing.

“Fuck off!”

She could do it ...she _could_! One deep breath, followed by another and with shaking calves Sylvie pushed herself back into a standing position. She let out an undecipherable yell as she swung her staff low across the ground, a wall of flame erupting across the clearing. It bought her a few moments respite- if he couldn't see her clearly then he couldn't direct his spells effectively. Sylvie tried to centre herself, just like the Knight-Enchanter tomes said, and she could _just_ feel the calmness that the books talked about. With her staff held high, she thrust her free hand at the wall of fire to draw it _back_ to her and the flames obeyed. They arced and swirled, the very air around her growing heated and acrid. She'd always loved this moment- that split second when she felt the sheer _power_ of fire at her beck and call. Sylvie threw the gathered flames forwards and they crashed into the ground in front of her opponent. She was _not_ going to lose this.

The fireball missed it's target by a hairs breadth when he dodged, his barrier glowing blue as it deflected the errant wisps and cinders. Sylvie gathered her strength again, flames dancing on her fingertips. When she hurled it this time, the fireball ran head-on into a sphere of lightening. The resultant explosion shook both the ground and the trees, leaves and dirts flying everywhere. Sylvie was tossed backwards as was the other mage, the wind knocked out of them both where they hit the ground hard. A dead silence descended over the clearing ...well there _would_ have been silence if Sylvie's ears weren't ringing so loudly. She _did_ manage to hear a loud groan and a string of swearing.

“Well that was ...academic.”

Sylvie struggled into a seated position, shaking the wooziness from her head as she looked across the charred grass at an extremely dishevelled Dorian.

“Academic?” She replied, eyebrows raised as she picked twigs and leaves from her hair.

“I'd never thought to wonder what happens when lightening collides face first into a fireball...” Dorian stood up gingerly and looked around the clearing. “...and now I know. If I ever require help levelling a forest you will be the first person I seek out.”

“We didn't level a...” Sylvie trailed off and looked around, lips parted in what she imagined was a comical 'oh'. The first line of trees surrounding them were broken almost in half with many of the trunks creaking ominously as they threatened to break off. At least three further rows of trees were also bending dramatically as if they had been trying to run away from the blast.

“Perhaps not completely but we made quite a start.” Dorian replied. He made his way across the clearing to where she was still sitting on the ground and offered her a hand up. “I think we'll call that one a draw, my dear.”

“In which case I win two to one.” Sylvie grinned, pulling a leaf from Dorian's hair which was in total disarray.

“Congratulations, my dear.” He conceded with a nod of his head. “Does this mean that after a fortnight of constant sparring I may finally get a few days respite from potential inflammation?”

“I wouldn't go _that_ far.” Sylvie said, bending down to pick up her staff. “Ready for another?”

“Kaffas, woman!” Dorian threw his hands into the air and stomped over to a nearby fallen log. “I hope you're this insatiable with the Commander.” He dropped down heavily onto the log and began smoothing down his thoroughly dishevelled hair. Sylvie chuckled, plopping herself onto the ground beside Dorian's feet and leaning back against his legs.

“Worried you'll lose again?” She teased. She felt Dorian's fingers picking twigs and clumps of dirt from her hair.

“I'm more concerned I will drop dead from exhaustion before we kick Corypheus in his red lyrium crusted behind.” Dorian deftly pulled her bun out of it's tie and began to redo it for her.

“ _There's_ an image I don't need in my head ...but I suppose after nearly blowing ourselves up we should maybe call it a day.” She conceded.

“Thank the Maker!” Dorian declared, clapping his hands onto her shoulders. “What should we do instead? Unless of course you will be running off and abandoning me for the Commander once we get back up to Skyhold?”

“I'm sure I can spare you a few hours.” Sylvie quipped back, hauling herself to her feet. “If you could do anything with your evening what would it be?”

“ _Anything?_ ” Dorian repeated, raising his eyebrow.

“Anything within the realms of common decency, I mean.” Sylvie said with a roll of her eyes.

“Well _that_ limits my options severely.” He tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully. “I miss parties.”

“Parties?”

“Yes, my sweet Sylvie, _parties_. You know the sort- drinking, bawdy jokes, loud toasts and loutish behaviour.” He stood up from the log and picked up his own staff.

“I think you probably need a reason to throw a party, Dorian.” Sylvie commented as they began to make their way to the edge of the clearing.

“Pah! Nonsense ...although it does help. A party without a proper reason is really just a thinly veiled excuse for people to get drunk and misbehave.” He went momentarily quiet as they navigated passed the damaged trees and sought out the path to Skyhold. “Is there anyone we know who has nameday soon?”

“Mine was last week.” Sylvie casually remarked with a shrug. Dorian stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her incredulously.

“Why am I just hearing about this now?” He asked her.

“I didn't think it was anything to make a fuss over.” She continued to walk, Dorian hurrying after her. “Namedays usually went by unremarked in the Circle ...you got used to it.”

“Just when you thought the Circles here in the South couldn't get any more barbaric...”

They ascended the mountain path that would take them back to the main gates, passing the occasional watchman as they went. When Sylvie had first gone to Dorian to ask him to spar, the two of them had spent hours debating on the best place to do it. No where actually _in_ Skyhold had seemed like a safe idea and so eventually Sylvie had opted to ask one of Leliana's scouts if they knew of anywhere close by that would do the job. The scout had taken the two mages to a copse of pine trees perched precariously on the mountainside behind Skyhold, it's lines of foliage descending a long way down until it thinned out beside an outcrop of boulders.

Dorian had gone suspiciously quiet again and Sylvie wasn't completely sure that she wanted to know what he was plotting in that handsome head of his. She truly hadn't thought anything of her nameday passing by. It had perhaps been a little ... _surprising_ that nobody knew, given the fact that her advisors probably had a whole host of information about her. Sylvie supposed that the date of her nameday wasn't quite as vital to have a note of when compared to her lineage, her time in the circle ...or her chest size, if the new underwear she had received from Vivienne was anything to go by.

Eventually they crossed Skyhold's bridge and went through the portcullis. Sylvie was about to finally ask Dorian what he was thinking when she was distracted by the sounds of clashing swords and good-natured yells from a group of soldiers sparring in a circle. She and Dorian paused in unison when the circle of soldiers shifted slightly, giving them a direct view of Cullen, sword raised, and the man he seemingly had knocked into the dirt.

“ _There's_ a nameday gift if ever I saw one.” Dorian said, nodding towards Cullen. “I notice he has taken off that hideous cloak of his ...do you suppose if we wait around long enough the rest of the clothes will follow?”

Sylvie could see the sly grin on Dorian's face without even looking at him and the sudden, almost girlish, giggle that toppled out of her mouth took her by surprise. Cullen and the soldiers must have heard it too because they all turned around and stood abruptly to attention ...all but her Commander who gave her the smallest, warmest, of smiles before he seemed to collect himself and loudly cleared his throat.

“Ah, and here are the gooey eyes.” Dorian screwed his face up dramatically. “I feel like I'm watching one of Varric's novels play out right in front of me.”

The two of them both watched as Cullen sheathed his sword, giving his soldiers instructions before pulling his cloak back on and striding in their direction.

“Inquisitor. Dorian.” Cullen gave them both a nod in turn. “We've been waiting for you to return- there was a bird from the Western Approach an hour ago. It would seem that Stroud and Hawke have arrived and the situation is as ...grim as first thought.”

“And here I was mentally planning a party ...perhaps even a _soiree._ ” Dorian chimed in. “Instead I'm assuming I now have to pack for a trip to a swirling desert ...delightful.”

“Is a party different from a soiree?” Sylvie asked, looking at Dorian. She heard Cullen snort derisively.

“Only when Orlesians want to make themselves feel like they are better than the rest of us.” He remarked. Dorian briefly looked scandalised and ready to retort but Cullen continued to speak. “I wasn't aware that Skyhold required such an ...event.”

“Dorian thinks it's a terrible crime that no one knew it was my nameday last week.” Sylvie didn't _actually_ roll her eyes but was satisfied that it came across in her tone.

“I'm sure the Commander is as horrified as I am.” Dorian suggested, turning his focus to Cullen as he looked for confirmation.

“The Commander has bigger things to concern himself with than my nameday.” Sylvie countered. “There _is_ a war going on if you hadn't noticed.”

“ _Is there_?” Dorian put a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “That small fact must have just blown right over my head ...I suppose it _is_ rather breezy up on this mountain top.”

Cullen snorted at Dorian's remark but hastily concealed it with a fake cough when Sylvie glared at him.

“Look, it now doesn't matter whether you wanted to throw me a party or not- we need to leave for the Western Approach tomorrow so, as you correctly assumed, you have a bag to pack.” Sylvie crossed her arms across her chest. “And if you could let...”

“Blackwall and The Iron Bull know ...yes, yes I'll get right on that.” Dorian waved a dismissive hand and, after bidding Cullen farewell, turned on his heel and strode away.

“Why didn't you mention that it was your nameday?” Cullen asked softly.

“Oh for fucks sake, don't _you_ start.” Sylvie rolled her eyes and headed up the stairs that would take her through the kitchens and beneath the main hall. Cullen matched her stride, holding the door open for her when they reached it. “You'll know what it was like in Circles, it's not as if there were nameday celebrations every week. It's like I said to Dorian- I got used to it not really being a ...thing.”

The cooks bowed lowly when they spotted her but Sylvie held up a hand to indicate that, really, they should _please_ stop doing that every time she sneaked in to pilfer some food. She snagged a fruit filled pastry on her way passed, Cullen once again gallantly holding open the door for her.

“Anyway, more importantly...” She took a huge bite of the pastry, humming happily to herself at the burst of tart juice from the blackberries, before continuing to talk with a mouthful of her sweet treat. “We need to have a quick meeting in the war room to draw up a final plan for the Western Approach.”

“Josephine should be in her office and I will send someone to find Leliana. When would you like to meet?” Cullen asked as they wound their way through the dull corridors beneath the main hall.

“Now is fine, it's not as if I have any party plans.” Sylvie stuffed the last of the pastry into her mouth, cheeks mostly likely bulging from the mouthful. It was probably just as well she had ended up in a Circle tower- her crude eating habits would know doubt have caused _quite_ the scandal with the other nobles.

“You ...have jam on your face...”

Sylvie's reply of “do I?” was muffled by the amount of food in her mouth before she swallowed it. She stopped to rub at her lips and heard Cullen chuckle as his came to stand in front of her. _He_ wasn't looking at her like her methods of eating were disgusting ...in fact Cullen was smiling at her in a manner that suggested he found the whole thing endearing. Sylvie would have liked to smile back but highly doubted that there was anything remotely charming about the blackberry seeds she could feel stuck in her teeth.

“You missed it completely...” Cullen swiped a thumb firmly along the corner of her lips and Sylvie could feel the stickiness being wiped away. Without even thinking about it, she flicked her tongue over the tip of Cullen's thumb, tasting the sweetness of the jam mingled with the slight saltiness of his sweat.

“Tastes like you got it.” She remarked softly, very much enjoying the way Cullen's lips parted a fraction at the accidentally sultry tone of her voice.

“It ...would appear so...” He stroked his knuckles along the line of her jaw as he leaned in to press one …two ...three soft kisses against the corner of her lips. Sylvie felt each touch of his mouth on hers all the way down to her toes, the gentle kisses already setting her heart to pounding.

“Maybe I don't _have_ to plan for the Western Approach ...I'm sure I could just figure it out when I get there.” Sylvie murmured, eliciting a low chuckle from Cullen.

“Have you even looked at the maps I gave you?” He asked her, taking a step backwards.

“I ...might have...” Sylvie pointedly avoided his questioning stare.

“Where in relation to the forward camp is the old fort I marked as a potential spot for a permanent outpost?” When Sylvie finally looked up from her feet, Cullen had his arms folded over his chest and his head titled curiously. There was amusement glimmering in his warm, brown eyes.

“...north?” She looked at him hopefully.

“Directly north?” Cullen countered, the scarred side of his mouth drawing up into a smirk.

“Kind of north ...I would have looked at the maps eventually.” Sylvie replied, following up her answer with an unladylike huff.

“I know.” Cullen assured her. “You may be ...easily distracted, but I have yet to see you be irresponsible in your duties.”

“Your use of the word 'yet' doesn't invoke much confidence.” Sylvie gave him a half-smile. “For all _I_ know, you and Leliana spend all your free time fretting over the terrible job I'm doing.”

“You're doing a wonderful job, Sylvie.” He leaned back in and pressed a lingering kiss against her hair. She could feel him smile against her head. “Even if you don't always look at the maps.”

 

\- - -

 

The meeting in the war room had gone much as Sylvie expected. They had discussed what creatures her party would likely face (nothing cute and fluffy), the best potential sites for outposts and reports of bandit activity in the area before moving on to what they would come up against with the Wardens. _That_ conversation had been more speculative than informative and Sylvie was left with a hundred questions but no answers. She had not so casually lingered to speak to Cullen, asking if he would have dinner with her in her quarters. Every time they were in his office there was inevitably some sort of interruption, at least in her quarters they could be guaranteed a few hours of peace before she was gone for weeks ...perhaps as much as a month. She had become accustomed, over the last fortnight, to being able to see him every day. It made her stomach squirm uncomfortably to think she had to get used to _not_ seeing him again.

Upon reaching her quarters after being in the war room, Sylvie had quickly washed and changed into one of the over-sized tunics she was so fond of. Dorian had once commented that this particular one with it's shapeless silhouette and dark green fabric made her look a block of mossy driftwood. The tunic fell passed her knees so Sylvie tended to dispense with leggings or stockings when she wore it around her quarters and so Dorian had _also_ added that it looked like the driftwood was doing a poor job of concealing a pair of severed, sickly pale legs. She had thrown a book at him for that, instantly feeling awful when it smacked him on the forehead.

Sylvie dropped down heavily onto the couch, ignoring the way her stomach rumbled at the scent of the food that had been brought up, as she tucked her 'sickly pale' legs beneath her. There was a pile of reports beside her and she picked them up, flicking idly through them while wondering what was taking Cullen so long. The Commander was punctual to a fault so his lack of promptness was adding a mysterious lilt to the evening that she hadn't been planning for. Another few minutes went by and Sylvie was about to launch a one woman search party when she heard her door open and close, the sound of heavy footsteps and chinking armour swiftly following.

“I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost.” Sylvie called across the room at the first hint of blond hair visible through the banister.

“Forgive me, I ...ran into Varric on the way here.” Cullen reached the top of the stairs and took a few steps into the room before hesitating. “He insisted that I couldn't bring you _this_ without proper ...presentation.”

It was then that Sylvie noticed something rather small and rectangular clutched in one of his hands. She sat down the reports she was holding and crawled to the other side of the couch, leaning over the arm curiously.

“What is it?”

Cullen took a few more steps forward and gave her it, rubbing at the back of his neck once his hand was free. Sylvie ran her fingers across the parcel he had handed her, it was wrapped rather delicately in a swatch of blue velvet, the material held closed with a length of golden silk tied into a simply bow.

“It's ...nothing, really.” Cullen replied after a few moments silence. “There aren't a great deal of opportunities to purchase presents in Skyhold, particularly at such short notice, but ...I thought, perhaps, that you should have at least _one_ nameday gift.”

Sylvie looked up from the parcel ...no, the _present,_ and saw that Cullen was still awkwardly rubbing at his neck, purposefully looking over at the fireplace instead of at her. She almost didn't want to unwrap it ...her first nameday present in sixteen years...

“It feels like a book.” She moved it from hand to hand, testing the weight of it. She could feel the indents of the spine and the overhang between the covers and the pages themselves.

“Varric felt the need to comment on that as well.” Cullen folded his arms across his chest, eyes finally turning back to her. “According to him flowers or perhaps a piece of jewellery would have been more ...appropriate for a lady.”

“Well no one has ever accused me of being that.” Sylvie replied with a snort. “Flowers wilt after a few days and jewellery is hardly practical when I spend most of time waving around a staff or falling over.”

“That's what I told Varric. A book seemed much more ...you, this one especially.” Cullen smiled softly and Sylvie could feel herself grinning like an idiot in response. Reluctantly, she pulled at the ends of the bow and the silk ribbon fell smoothly to the floor. The velvet parted and she put it to one side.

“The Human Flame, by Enchanter Abanor, Master of Inferno...” Sylvie read the title softly, her fingers reverently skimming across the embossed lettering.

“I ...hope it is all right?”

“Are you serious?!” Sylvie very nearly bounced backwards into a seated position, flipping open the book as carefully as she could in her excitement. “How did you even get this? Enchanter Abanor's work with flame is ...legendary! But a lot of his works were banned from the Circles, this one in particular.”

“One of the merchants visiting Skyhold has a great number of books for sale ...did you say _banned?_ ”

In her elation Sylvie was only mildly aware of Cullen's somewhat horrified tone of voice as he finally joined her on the couch. She swung her legs across his thighs, settling back on a cushion to examine the drawings and diagrams on the first few pages.

“Abanor was a genius but he was also considered to be ...let's say eccentric.” Sylvie was only half paying attention to the conversation. She had heard tales of this tome and now she was actually _holding_ it in her hands. “He had this theory that a true master of Inferno magic could actually _become_ fire. Well not literally of course, that would be silly, but he suggested a spell so potent that the caster would become completely engulfed in flames but remain unburned ...'striking fear into the hearts of their enemies and placing wonder into the hearts of their friends'...” The quote was one she had memorised from her old mentor back in the Circle.

“And this is the book where he wrote that theory?” He asked. Sylvie could feel Cullen's eyes on her and nodded silently in answer. “I have given you a book that will, in theory, _teach_ you how to set yourself on fire?”

“Oh don't say it so full of worry and despair.” Sylvie chuckled, continuing to flip through the pages. “Even _I'm_ not going to try it. Although ...it would definitely be a spectacle on the battlefield. I can just imagine Corypheus making some grand speech about us all being gnats or something and then woosh! I become fire!”

“As one of your advisors I feel I may have to strongly object to that course of action.” Cullen's hands found a resting spot on her bare shins, his thumbs idly rubbing firm circles on her calves.

“I think there is too much resting on my shoulders for me to start trying to prove Enchanter Adanor's theory.”

“He was never successful?” Cullen sounded genuinely curious and for a passing second Sylvie embraced the relative absurdity of discussing magical theories with a former Templar as he rubbed the aches from her legs.

“No, he finished the book but died before he could find out whether or not he was right.”

“I wonder why...” Cullen dead panned and Sylvie could practically hear the disapproval in his voice.

“He drowned, actually.”

Cullen snorted loudly, causing Sylvie to look up sharply at him with a frown.

“Forgive me ...it is ...improper to be amused by another mans misfortune.” He quickly averted his gaze but Sylvie could still see the smile threatening to crack his features.

“It _is_ pretty funny ...in a morbidly humorous way.” Sylvie chuckled, snapping the book shut and sitting it on her lap. “The 'Master of Inferno'- killed by water. I'm sure there is some kind of lesson in that somewhere.”

She drew her legs away from Cullen, getting onto her knees and shuffling over to kneel beside him. She wobbled precariously on the soft cushions but Cullen wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her steady. Cupping a hand around his cheek, Sylvie leaned in swiftly and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. His stubble scratched pleasantly at her palm as Sylvie slid her hand up to run it through his hair. She could feel him smiling into the kiss, his grip on her tightening ever so slightly.

“Thank you.” She whispered the words, breath fluttering across his mouth and pressed their foreheads together.

Sylvie let her eyes flicker shut, allowing herself a moment to revel in the simplicity of just being a woman receiving a wonderfully thoughtful gift from someone she cared about. If she could bottle the sensation of contentment in the pit of her stomach, she had no doubt she could sell it for a fortune in the markets of every city in Thedas. She could have quite happily stayed locked in that fantasy for hours had her thighs not become to cramp and she ungracefully flopped down onto her rear, the reports she had earlier been skimming crinkling beneath her weight.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She wiggled them out from beneath her, many of the pieces of parchment now extremely squashed. She plucked the one she wanted from the pile and let the rest of them fall unceremoniously to the floor. “This was in with reports I was given this morning but it's more your territory.”

“What does it say?” Cullen asked, a gentle hand coming to rest absently on the small of her back while she leaned towards the forgotten dinner on the low table in front of them.

“One of our outriders ran into a group of men travelling south from Jader.” Sylvie tore a chunk of bread for the half-loaf on the tray with her free hand. “Seemingly they're on their way here to join our forces. The scout reports that each one of the men is an experienced soldier so that's good, right? I know a lot of your recruits have been raw and unblooded.”

“Raw and unblooded?” Cullen raised an eyebrow at her, amusement playing across his face. Sylvie responded by stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.

“I read the phrase in a book.”

“I didn't realise you had been reading some of the military books in the library.” Cullen said finally swallowing the food that had been forced upon him.

“And _I_ didn't realise that you consider Swords and Shields to be a military book.” Sylvie quipped back.

“Swords and ...Maker's breath, you're actually reading it?” Cullen shook his head but there was a smile on his face. He leaned over, pressing a fleeting kiss to her cheek. “You _do_ realise that Varric will likely use the fact that the Inquisitor reads his novels as a way to sell more copies?”

“I'm always happy to help a friend.” Sylvie grinned, handing the report to Cullen for him to look at. “One of the soldiers is a Marcher, even says he served in Kirkwall during the clean up effort after the city ...you know ...blew up. Perhaps you met him.”

“It seems ...unlikely. The City Guard were responsible for coordinating all the civilian volunteers, I had my hands full holding together what was left of the Order after everything that had happened.”

“My brother went to Kirkwall as well, or so I heard.” Sylvie told him, nibbling on a piece of cheese she had snatched up. “But I don't suppose you met him either.”

“I'm sure I would have remembered the name had I heard it- there were a large number of volunteers but not many nobles amongst them.” Cullen glanced up from the report, frowning distractedly into the fireplace. “Which brother was this?”

“It was Philip. Freddie ...sorry, _Bann_ Fredrick was head of house Trevelyan by that point.” Sylvie scowled at the piece of cheese in her hand as if it were somehow to blame for the arrogant and dismissive letter Fredrick had sent all those months ago to denounce the Inquisition.

“Were you close as children?” Cullen asked her, still frowning.

“We did everything together from the moment I could walk until the day I set the shrubbery on fire and was sent to the Circle.”

Sylvie regarded Cullen carefully. His mind seemed to have gone somewhere else entirely, perhaps already planning what do to with these supposed soldiers when they reached Skyhold ...or perhaps he was thinking about his own siblings that he hadn't seen for so many years. Judging by the pensive expression on his face, Sylvie figured that it was the latter and made the decision not to pry. Cullen had always seemed extremely ...guarded about his past and she didn't want to push him.

“That's enough Inquisition talk.” She plucked the report from Cullen's hands and dropped it onto the floor with the rest of them. She rested her hands on his biceps. “In a few hours I will leaving for at least month so for now could put the Inquisitor and the Commander to one side?”

Cullen blinked a couple of times before he seemed to register what she had said, eventually smiling and reaching up to brush her hair from her face.

“Of course.” He leaned in slowly, warm lips brushing over her ear. “Happy nameday.”

Sylvie felt herself shiver- there was something about Cullen's voice, pitched low right in her ear, that sent a flare of heat coursing through her body. She wanted to make a joke, ask for _another_ nameday present from him, ...she wanted to say nothing at all, simply to fall backwards on the couch and pull Cullen's weight on top of her. The more time they spent together, the harder Sylvie found it to focus on anything other than how much she _wanted_ him ... _needed_ him.

The tension between them seemed to grow more volatile with every kiss ...every touch and Sylvie could feel it building between them again with every ghost of Cullen's breath across her ear. Part of her wondered if she were to simply tilt her head, capture his lips, then that tension would finally snap tonight ...but did she truly want to have that first taste of what she had been craving only to have to leave Skyhold for at least a month come dawn?

Hesitating for a few moments, Sylvie gradually drew herself away from Cullen, her body screaming angrily at her even as her mind assured her she was making the correct decision ...too much time with Cullen was making her both frustrated _and_ overly sensible, apparently.

“Let's actually eat something.” She declared, leaning forward to snag another piece of cheese from the table. Tucking her legs under her, Sylvie leaned back into Cullen's arms and settled herself on his chest. She felt him chuckle as his fingers traced idle patterns along her shoulder.

“This position isn't entirely practical for eating.” He pointed out. Sylvie sat up and frowned at him.

“Well _this,_ ” she rapped her knuckles on his breastplate, “isn't exactly practical for sitting comfortably together on the couch.”

“I suppose you have me there.” Cullen shifted her slightly, giving himself room to stand up. He stepped around the couch and deftly unfastened his gauntlets, sitting them carefully on a nearby chair before his hands moved to the straps of his breastplate.

“Maker preserve us! Someone mark the date on a calender!” Sylvie cried dramatically. “Commander Cullen Rutherford is _actually_ putting comfort ahead of being prepared to spring into battle at any moment.”

“If you're going to be ... _cheeky_ about it...” He raised an eyebrow at her as he let his hands fall back to his sides.

Sylvie was up from the couch in an instant, smiling to herself when she heard Cullen laughing. She began to work at undoing the first strap and Cullen laughed even harder at her tongue sticking out in concentration. With a disgruntled huff, Sylvie threw her hands in the hair and stomped back to the couch to wait for him.

“No wonder you didn't want to take it off.” She grumbled, pouring herself a goblet of wine from the bottle that had also been placed on the table.

Leaning back, Sylvie watched Cullen removing his armour with well-practiced ease while sipping on the blood-red wine. It was sweet and heady, bursts of berries on her tongue and cinnamon warm in her throat. Once all the straps on the breastplate were undone, Cullen put it gently on the floor and Sylvie wondered if she should perhaps get an armour stand for her quarters. He sat back down beside her, arms opening once again. Sylvie put her goblet back on the table and shuffled over, resting her head on his chest. Even through the material of Cullen's tunic, Sylvie could feel the firmness of his muscles and the heat of his skin.

“Better?” He asked and Sylvie could feel the rumble of his voice against her cheek.

“Much better. Now ...tell me about your day.”

“My day?” He sounded confused.

“ _Yes_ , Cullen- your day...” She repeated it overly slowly as she drew circles on his knee with her fingertips. “That's what normal people do, isn't it? Discuss their goings on with the person they're in a …thing with.” The word couple had been on the tip of her tongue and even though she was fairly certain that they would be called that now, it had never been formally discussed. Sylvie assumed that Cullen was the kind of man who would _want_ a formal conversation about that particular title.

She nuzzled in closer, eyes gradually drifting shut as Cullen began to tell her about how the troops were performing, about the new supplies of armour they had received and the weapons that the smiths had set about making. It wasn't that she was bored by what he was saying, quite the opposite in fact, but the entire situation was just so bloody ...comfortable...

Sylvie awoke with a start, momentarily confused as she peered blearily at her surroundings. She remembered resting with her head on Cullen's chest but now seemed to have her head on pillow that was sitting on his lap. Stretching a little, Sylvie rolled onto her back to find Cullen smiling softly down at her, the reports she had earlier dropped now held in his hands.

“I fell asleep.” She mumbled, rubbing at her eyes.

“You fell asleep.” Cullen agreed, leaning over her head to put the reports on the table. He sat back again, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. “I didn't realise my daily activities were quite so tedious.”

“They're not, I promise.” Sylvie sat up, turning around to face Cullen as she worked the kinks from her shoulders. “I happen to be an extremely busy woman, you know.”

Cullen opened his mouth to reply but instead did something so unusual ...so unexpected from him that Sylvie could only gape in response.

“Andraste's tits ...you just _yawned_!” Sylvie cupped his cheeks in both of her hands, ignoring the baffled look his was giving her. “I've seen you looking tired at night ...I've seen you in the morning ...I've seen you after a _battle_ while we were climbing a fucking mountain but I've never seen you _yawn..._ ”

“I ...don't understand what is so astounding.” Cullen replied, his voice oddly muffled from the way that Sylvie was ungraciously squishing his cheeks together.

“It's just ...you're so ... _composed_ all the time!” She finally let go of his face.

“I am much more ...at ease around you ...more than I thought I ever could be around someone...” Cullen didn't quite meet her eyes when he made his admission and Sylvie could see the traces of the scars his past had left him with flickering across his expression.

Wordlessly, Sylvie wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself in close and burying her head in his neck. His arms went around he waist, squeezing her firmly as if he were worried she were going to drift away. Sylvie could feel more words just threatening to bubble forth ...words she knew would one day come but hadn't quite stopped to consider yet. In spite of the burning urge to simply let them out, she held her tongue, disentangling herself from Cullen's grip. The realisation was both terrifying and ... _wonderful_ but, as rash as she was, Sylvie wasn't quite ready to let those emotions fly free.

“You should get some rest for tomorrow.” Cullen said, kissing her lightly on the forehead as he stood from the couch. Sylvie wanted to protest that she was _fine_ but the sensible voice in her head (that actually sounded remarkably like Cullen) agreed.

She watched, rather forlornly, while Cullen put his armour back on. It seemed wistful and selfish but for those few minutes Sylvie greatly wished she could just be a _person_ ...not the so-called Herald ...not the Inquisitor ...just _her._ It wasn't the first time she had felt like that and it undoubtedly it wouldn't be the last time before this war was over.

As Cullen was pulling on his cloak, Sylvie stood up and made her way over to him. She took him briefly by surprise when she flung her arms around him, holding herself tightly against his body. He recovered quickly, arms wrapping around her waist and hands stroking the small of her back.

“I'm going to miss you.” She told him, her voice small and quiet even to her own ears. She felt Cullen's lips on her temple, lingering as he inhaled deeply.

“I will miss you too ...a great deal, in fact...”

“You'll come see us off in the morning?” Sylvie pulled back a little to look at him.

“Of course.” He kissed her then, firm and unyielding, and she gripped at the fur collar of his cloak. After a moment or two, Cullen finally pulled away. “Sleep well, Sylvie.”

“Goodnight, Cullen.”

She followed him to the top of the stairs and stood there watching him leave, refusing to budge until she heard the door to her quarters open and close behind him. With a sigh, Sylvie crossed the room towards her bed, stripping off her clothes and leaving them in a trail behind her. She silently cursed Corypheus even more than normal as she burrowed into the covers and let sleep claim her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you as always to everyone reading/leaving kudos and comments. Every single one makes me so cheerful! A particular thanks to my amazing beta Gabtinha for all her tough love, without whom this fic would have no sparkle.


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